


Growing Pains

by Paclipas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Attempt at Humor, Bickering, Cas just gets a bit bossy when he's done with Dean's shit, Castiel in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Castiel is So Done with Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester is a Disaster Bi, Dom/sub Undertones, Dysfunctional Family, Gabriel is not helpful, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, Jack Needs a Hug, Kid Jack Kline, M/M, Meddling Sam Winchester, POV Alternating, Pining, Post-Episode: s13e22 Exodus, Temper Tantrums, Touch-Starved Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:13:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29093283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paclipas/pseuds/Paclipas
Summary: Raising a suddenly de-aged nephilim is a real challenge, but it turns out to get a lot easier with the help of mommy blogs, The Little Prince and some Metallica.In which Jack wants to be a kid, Sam wants to make everything work, and Dean and Cas want each other (but won't admit it).
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 14
Kudos: 127





	1. Jack

**Author's Note:**

> This is me hopping onto the Kid!Jack bandwagon because it heals my soul to think about the boys going all soft over their little son.  
> Also, on my re-watch I realized that they really wasted the potential of Gabriel fixing heaven and making that his redemption arc, seriously killing him was so pointless. 
> 
> There's some angst in the beginning but it'll be mostly chaotic fluff once you get through that, I promise.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack had to grow up too fast. So he undoes it.

Summer has settled over Kansas and with it came the heat. Dusty and dry, and clinging to the skin like like wool on Velcro. Jack already decided weeks ago that he doesn’t like it. He may be a nephilim and therefore less affected by it than he might otherwise be but he’s still human enough to find the midday sun uncomfortable. Especially sitting in the metal confines of Dean’s Impala. The others have left him side-lined under the pretense of ‘ _someone’s gotta make sure we don’t get a parking ticket_ ’. While Jack is young and sometimes still naive he has spent enough time in Apocalypse World to know distrust when he sees it. In a way it’s understandable, after spending so long apart and with Lucifer’s deceptive interference. Still, sitting there between heat-softened vinyl and sticky leather he can’t help the bitterness that rises in his throat like bile. He has always acted in a way he thought did the Winchesters’ morals justice even in a world torn apart by war, but no matter how much he tries he cannot change the fact that he is the devil’s creation. Dean certainly won’t let him forget, not in as many words but with the nervous glances he still sometimes catches in the rearview mirror. He seems much more at ease when Cas is around, though that appears to be the general rule and not exclusive to the way he interacts with Jack. Unfortunately, Cas hasn’t been around much since they’ve managed to close the rift with both Lucifer and Michael on the other side. It’s permanent, Jack can feel it in the way the fabric of space and time has been smoothly mended together without leaving so much as an atom out of place. It turns out two archangels from mismatched realities cannot compete with the combined force of a nephilim and a now fully powered Gabriel. The latter is, of course, the reason for Cas’s lengthy absence. As fun as his self-titled ‘Uncle Gabe’ can be, he is no natural leader. Neither is Cas but at least he has the faint sense of duty to reign in his brother’s somewhat chaotic re-habitation of heaven. Being mad at Cas under these circumstances seems unfair, _is_ unfair, but he feels oddly abandoned in the Winchesters’ care. Like he has done his part by closing the rift and keeping it closed and now he’s nothing but an inconvenience to them, more creature than boy.

Outside he can hear children laughing, squealing with joy as they chase each other around the playground Dean parked next to. They seem so happy, blissfully unaware of the horrors lurking in the shadows around them, so different from the children in the other world that they left behind. So different from Jack himself. He’s probably their age, younger even, he realizes with a start. And what a gut-wrenching realization it is that childhood was never in the cards for him, much less a happy one. From the window he finds his own reflection staring back at him forlornly, young but no longer innocent. Much older than it should be. Pointedly averting his eyes, he looks back at the children. A little girl is crying after having fallen, her knee scraped. In an instant her mother, or so he presumes, gathers her up in an embrace, scattering sweet kisses into the child’s hair until the tears dry and laughter bubbles up once more. Humans have no grace to heal one another, the girl’s knee is still bloodied, yet it all seems to be better through this simple act of love. Jack wonders if his mother’s gentle embrace would also heal the wounds that his own grace can’t reach.

His thoughts are interrupted at the approach of the ever quarreling Winchester brothers. “- _told_ you it would take longer. It always takes longer.” Sam sends an apologetic look over his shoulder as he folds himself into the passenger seat.

Dean mirrors the action, though the look he sneaks at Jack as he starts the car feels less sympathetic. “I left a window open!”

“I’m not a dog!” Jack snaps, surprising himself as much as the others. He doesn’t usually talk back but in this case he feels entitled. If it means Dean turns up the music so loud the speakers start crackling and they don’t speak a single word on the drive home, so be it. The glass burns his forehead as he leans against the window surrendering both to the heat and his anger.

**~ * * * ~**

Back at the bunker Jack plans to flee straight to his room but of course he isn’t granted this wish either. While Dean pretends to ignore everyone as he gathers his weapons bag, Sam catches Jack by the shoulder. It’s clear that he is trying to be understanding and whatnot, he always is, but that doesn’t make Dean look at him with less skepticism and it doesn’t bring Cas back to the bunker. Jack shrugs him off, a current of grace crackling just under his skin. “Don’t,” he warns. Sam doesn’t argue and lets him go, which somehow makes everything worse.

One of the many perks of their underground refuge is that the arid heat doesn’t follow him inside. Instead the structure holds the same temperature year round, not too cold in the winter and only marginally warmer in the summer. It takes barely a wave of grace to dry the sweat and release his t-shirt from where it has been clinging to his back. A shower and a quick change of clothes would have had the same effect but Jack decides he can’t be bothered, images of the playing children and Dean’s condescending comment still tainting his vision with anger. If he’s just another weapon to be stored in the back of the Impala, not trained enough to hunt but also not to be trusted alone in the bunker, then why bother with his humanity at all. It’s not the first time he lets his angelic side take over. The people in the other world had so little in terms of rations and space, it had cost Jack nothing to use some of his grace to dampen his own needs. It now comes with the advantage that he doesn’t require any of the mundane human things like eating, or using the bathroom.

He doesn’t talk to the Winchesters for two days. Doesn’t even come out of his room. All he needs is stored away in the drawer by his bed in the form of super sized nougat bars, courtesy of Gabriel. Sometimes he hears nervous pacing outside his door, each step radiating Sam’s hesitation before he ultimately moves on every time. Maybe he is under the impression Jack went to sleep or is recharging, which is ironic. Since the nightmares started, sleep is far more draining than keeping himself awake for however long he can. Although he hasn’t been doing much at all he feels exhausted as he lies on his bed, gaze locked on the ceiling. Ever since the few hunters they managed to save from the other world have left to scatter around the country and maybe even beyond, Jack has been lonely. This world doesn’t need him to save it, or at least not at this point in time, and he is left without purpose but with all this power he can feel within himself. A constant ebb and flow of white-hot fire that aches to break to the surface, like a volcano about to erupt. He doesn’t want to be a danger to anyone but his anger sometimes comes so close to taking over completely it’s only a matter of time until he won’t be able to reign it in.

On the third day the electricity crackling in his veins has retreated far enough that humanity takes over again. As much as he pretends otherwise, Jack cannot live on nougat alone though the collection of wrappers scattered on his mattress bears witness to his ambitious attempt. Once in the hallway he vaguely aims himself at the kitchen as he fights his tired body for his continued consciousness. He’s already lost the battle several times, eyes falling shut for only minutes at a time but even that was enough for the nightmares to torment him. The latest had been nothing but vague images of broken angel wings and the cries of innocent children. He’s not sure if it was a memory or a cruel metaphor for his inner turmoil. Ether way he did his best not to fall back asleep afterwards.

As he reaches the kitchen he finds Dean sitting at the table, idly turning a coffee cup with his hand while he’s talking on the phone. When the hunter notices him he stops mid-sentence. “Actually he just came prancing in, hold on.” He moves the phone from his ear, looking mildly annoyed but in the way that’s actually masking concern. Jack has gradually learned to navigate around the Winchesters’ emotions enough to know this. “Cas says you haven’t been picking up your phone.”

“It’s not charged.” He stubbornly pours himself a bowl of Krunch Cookie Crunch even as he feels Dean’s eyes on his back.

“What d’you mean ‘it’s not charged’, what am I your secretary? We didn’t get you the damn thing just ‘cause it looks pretty on a side table.”

On the other end of the line Cas sounds agitated, though Jack is too preoccupied with the cereal bowl cradled in his hands to listen more closely. When he turns around he catches the tail-end of Dean rolling his eyes, defiant but fondly so. “Alright, calm down.” He holds out the phone to Jack. “Cas wants to talk to you.”

Jack shoves a spoonful of food into his mouth, the milk-to-cereal ratio lopsided enough for loud crunching noises to fill the awkward silence as he doesn’t move a muscle to take the phone. Dean heaves a tortured sigh but doesn’t push him. “Kid’s not in a talking mood,” he says into the phone. “I’ll catch you later.” And he hangs up.

“If he wants to talk he can come here,” Jack murmurs stubbornly, more to himself than the room at large.

For some reason it draws a laugh from Dean. “Yeah, well. Old dogs, new tricks and all that.”

Jack doesn’t know what that’s supposed to mean, but the hunter sounds empathetic. “I miss him,” he finally admits, chewing thoughtfully.

“Guess Gabe’s been keeping him on his toes pretty good,” Dean offers. “Though the thing about Cas is he always comes back, eventually. Like a boomerang.”

“You miss him too.” It’s intended to be a question but the way Dean’s face softens doesn’t leave much room for interpretation. Perhaps unfairly Jack wonders if anyone ever looked like this when he was gone.

“Listen, kid. Cas is worried about you. We all are. I know… things haven’t been easy with your dad showing up and-”

The anger awakens again at the mere suggestion, shooting to the surface. No one seems to understand _:_ “Lucifer is _not_ my father.”

 _Cas is_ , he wants to add as he stares Dean down. _You are_.

It feels like the sentiment would be painfully one-sided, even though Dean raises a surrendering hand.

“I’m sorry.” The hunter looks away. “It’s just, uh. You were pretty eager to give the guy the benefit of the doubt for a while there. Can’t blame us for being careful.”

There it is again, this all against one mentality, as if Jack had any hand in whatever Lucifer’s twisted plan had been. He’d felt safe in siding with his family then, his loyalty unwavering even when faced with the ideas of grandeur and the promises his so-called father had showered him with.  
“You raised me better than to fall for his cheap tricks.” He all but spits the words at Dean as he drops his bowl back onto the kitchen counter with enough force to make a wave of milk spill over the edge.

To his credit, the hunter actually looks guilty, recoiling physically from the harsh edge in his voice but he doesn’t say anything else. Naturally Sam chooses this very moment to round the corner into the kitchen. He immediately picks up on the tense atmosphere, as evident by the way his eyebrows shoot toward his hairline. “Whoa, what’s going on here?”

For a moment longer the air is thick with tension, then Jack gradually lets his shoulders slump. “I don’t want to talk about it any more,” he says as he sends a mournful look at his half-eaten bowl of cereal before retreating toward the door that’s not currently blocked by the younger Winchester.

“Awesome idea to let him stew in it,” Dean grumbles, directed at Sam. “Clearly he’s doing great.”

Even Jack recognizes the sarcasm in his words. He’s almost by the door now, only a couple more steps and he can leave this conversation behind.

He stops against his better judgment.

“Maybe I’d be doing better if you at least pretended to care what it’s like for _me_.”

“Oh come, on. We all got daddy issues. Grow up.”

“I did,” Jack roars, turning around to fix Dean with another furious gaze. “I _had_ to grow up. I was fighting a war in which both sides hated me for who I am. _That’s_ what I’m dealing with. Lucifer never had anything to do with it, I don’t care what he said or wanted. _You’re_ my family.”

Sam carefully steps up to him, hands raised like he’s trying to calm a spooked animal. “We’re sorry,” he says. It feels incredibly condescending.

“Everyone keeps _saying_ that. I don’t need you to be sorry, I need you to _help_ me figure things out. I don’t know who I am either but it feels like I constantly have to prove to you that whatever I am at least I’m not a threat.” He can feel the sting of tears in his eyes but they don’t fall just yet, his voice pleading as he looks between the brothers. “Guys, I’m only three years old.”

“I was four when I started taking care of Sammy,” Dean says matter-of-factly, his eyes stone cold. Another day Jack might have felt bad for him, but today his anger rightfully overrules any sympathy.

“So because you didn’t have a childhood I don’t deserve one either? I’m ‘the kid’ when you need me out of the way, but I should also grow up when I become a burden.”

Those words seem to hit home at least. Jack can see the muscles in Sam’s jaw tense as he looks at his brother to gauge his reaction. Dean looks like all air has been knocked out of him, his knuckles white where he’s holding onto the edge of the table. His voice comes out thin when he attempts to back-paddle from his previous aggression. “That’s… that’s not what I meant.”

It’s the closest thing to an apology he’s ever gotten from Dean but even so it’s too little too late.

“I do think it’s what you meant. I just don’t think you meant to say it.”

With that the first tear draws its path down his cheek but Jack won’t let the Winchesters see. His whole body trembles with his anger and his hurt, everything he has been pushing down the last two days buzzing under his skin all over again, this time tenfold. The walk to his room passes in a blur, he may even have utilized his grace to get there but he can’t be sure. Back in his sanctuary he crawls into bed to hide under the covers, making several nougat wrappers rain onto the floor in the process. He’s crying now, ugly sobs tearing their way from deep within his chest. He remembers the little girl from the playground and wishes hopelessly that someone, anyone, will come and hold him and gently rock him back and forth until the pain goes away. _It’s not fair_ , he thinks. _I never asked_ _for this_ _._

From the moment of his birth he was cursed with the knowledge of having a mother who loves him so deeply and yet wasn’t there to tell him as much with a whispered kiss or warming hug. Just tears and words from the past spoken to him through a screen. The only one there to defend him had been he himself, with both his mother and Castiel dead and the Winchesters far from comforting. Thrown right into the middle of it all, what choice did he have but to grow up beyond his years in the blink of an eye with the help of his grace.

Under his skin the very same essence now burns hotter than the scorching summer heat, the glow noticeable even from behind closed eyes. It’s not the result of a conscious action. Whatever is happening, it’s out of Jack’s control by this point. He can’t think clearly through the fog of his despair, deafened by the buzzing in his ears and blinded by the palms he keeps pressing against his eyes to shut out the increasingly bright light.

Even with all this angelic power ripping through him, the last thing he thinks before it all becomes too much is a silent and entirely human complaint to the universe.

_I’m just a boy._

In a thundering blast the entire bunker is illuminated by an unnaturally gleaming, all-encompassing flash of light.

A moment later darkness settles in its wake, swallowing the last of Jack’s sobs.

**~ * * * ~**


	2. Sam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam's suffering is eternal as he is stuck between a threenager and two pining idiots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: dean loses his lonely brain cell and is being a homophobic dick for like five seconds until cas puts him in his place

“Dude, was that really necessary?” Sam asks incredulously after watching Jack disappear into the hallway. His brother doesn’t meet his eyes and instead focuses on the empty coffee cup in front of him like it’s clearly much more interesting than this conversation could ever be.

“We can’t be walking on eggshells around him forever.” The stubborn edge in the statement is contrasted by the shell-shocked expression on Dean’s face. It’s clear that he knows he fucked this up. Good. Maybe there is some hope for the idiot after all.

“There’s not walking on eggshells and then there’s just being a massive dick. One guess which side you fell on just now.”

Dean pulls a face. “Come on, man. Cas is already all the way up my ass about the kid as it is.”

“Interesting choice of words.” Sam folds his arms over his chest, not even trying to hide his smirk at the fact that his brother gets all flustered. There isn’t actually anything going on between Dean and Cas as far as he knows, or at least no more than the usual painfully restrained heart-eyes whenever they’re in the same room. Provided Cas actually shows his face at the bunker every once in a while. After his month-long hiatus in heaven, courtesy of a certain archangel with clear attention deficit issues, Cas could really do well in checking in with them again. Not to be too hung-up on old jealousy and ‘profound bonds’ but well, let’s just say _he_ isn’t the one having secret hour-long phone conversations with Cas in the middle of the night. And really, one of these days the tension has got to boil over with those two. It’s been a decade and then some, even Sam’s patience knows some bounds.

“Don’t need you two joining forces, is all I’m saying,” Dean grumbles defensively, interrupting Sam’s lament over the will-they-won’t-they dynamic between his brother and the angel.

He clears his throat. “And all _I’m_ saying is that if several people are telling you you’re being a jerk, I think even _you_ can figure out that--”

He doesn’t get to finish the sentence when a sudden burst of light tears through the bunker without warning, effectively ending any and all bickering.

A blast like this should come with deafening noise, Sam thinks stupidly as he throws himself against the nearest wall, yet the only sound he hears as he squeezes his eyes shut against the light is the shatter of what must be every single light bulb in the bunker. The suspicion is confirmed when he feels shards of glass rain down on him while the light disappears just as suddenly as it flooded what felt like the very fabric of reality around them.

“Sammy, you alright?” Dean yells from across the room after a few seconds of silence.

“Yeah,” Sam responds. He cautiously opens his eyes to assess the damage. Luckily the emergency lights seem to have survived the unexplained assault and are now coating the room in eerie shades of red. “The hell was that?” he wonders out loud.

“Call me a jerk all you want but this just screams angel tantrum to me.” Dean gingerly climbs off his stool, careful to shake glass and other debris out of his short hair. Sam does the same until his brother’s words fully register with him.

“Jack!” he exclaims, suddenly overcome with concern.

It should have been his first thought, he realizes guiltily as he jogs down the dimly-lit labyrinth of hallways leading to the dormitories. The echo of his own steps ricochets off the bunker walls, closely followed by Dean’s. Apart from that, the structure is disturbingly devoid of sounds one would come to expect after an explosion of this scale, angelic or otherwise. The silence feels foreboding. With a start, Sam realizes he isn’t even carrying his weapon and curses under his breath. He should know better than to get too comfortable, even if the bunker has proven itself to be a mostly secure home over the years. Fortunately his brother remained much more of a paranoid bastard, judging by the sound of a switchblade springing open.

The door to Jack’s room stands ajar, emanating an ominous vibe. Sam positions himself on one side of it while he motions for Dean to cover him on the other. A cautious peek inside reveals nothing. The emergency lights in the hallway barely paint a streak of red until about halfway into the room that does little to illuminate anything at all. If they want to see more they’ll have to open the door further. Sam indicates as much with a jerk of his head. In response he watches as his brother’s hand tightens around his weapon before he nods in a silent ‘go ahead’.

Sam gently pushes against the door, easing it open. “Jack?”

He is met with a soft whimper as more red floods into the room. It’s still mostly dark but vague shapes of familiar furniture are starting to emerge from the shadows as his eyes adjust. The room appears empty and no more disturbed than the rest of the bunker aside from the glass from broken bulbs that crunches under Sam’s shoes as he creeps through the darkened space, following the faint noises he can still make out. When he reaches the bed he notices the sheets and blankets being all bunched up. He slowly reaches for the pile but stops his hand mid-air when it looks there is some movement. He holds his breath for a moment or two in hesitation as the sheets settle again, then grabs one corner of the blanket and yanks it away.

Whatever he expected, it’s not this.

On the mattress, tangled in what Sam recognizes as Jack’s gray hoodie, is a very young, entirely naked child. He gasps in shock at the sight and Dean is by his side in an instant, blade raised. Sam has the clarity of mind to stop his brother with a firm hand on his chest. The child raises its head, revealing tear-stained cheeks that glisten in the red beam of light falling on its face.

“The hell?” Dean exclaims loudly next to Sam, making the child whimper again. “Whose kid is that? Where the fuck is Jack?”

Sam doesn’t take his eyes off the child, the _boy_ , taking in his round cheeks and big glistening eyes. When the faintest golden spark flashes in them, a realizations dawns on him. “I think you should call Cas.”

“And tell him we lost the most powerful angel this side of the apocalypse _again_?”

“Dean, we didn’t lose him.” Sam barely allows himself a sideways glance at his brother. “I think this _is_ Jack.”

For a moment he can practically feel the gears in Dean’s head turning as he tries to process the information. He knows his brother well enough to see that he’s trying to come up with a better explanation, unwilling to believe the one Sam provided just now. Ultimately he seems to come up empty, instead reaching into his pocket for his phone while uttering some choice curses that are entirely inappropriate in the presence of a child. He paces the room behind Sam while holding the phone to his ear, waiting. When he speaks his voice is gruff.

“Cas. Might wanna get your ass down here, ASAP.” He drags a hand over his face in a clear sign of helpless frustration. “No one’s hurt. Least I don’t think so but we, uh. We got a situation here.”

Sam finds himself huffing out an incredulous breath at the understatement.

**~ * * * ~**

The closest newly opened heaven gate is about half an hour away with Dean behind the wheel, so Sam doesn’t even want to know how many traffic rules Cas broke when the sound of the bunker’s heavy front door opening reverberates off the walls barely twenty minutes later, followed by hasty footsteps. Dean, who has until now been leaning against the door frame at a safe distance from ‘this whole mess’, turns to meet the new arrival. Cas stops way too close, as always, the two of them nothing more than silhouettes in the doorway. As far as Sam can tell, this isn’t how either of the two expected to come face to face again after Cas’s prolonged absence. All they really do is share a brief stare but it’s intense enough for Sam to avert his eyes where he’s sitting against the headboard of the bed. The child who’s probably Jack is sitting in his lap, now wrapped in a blanket instead of just the hoodie. It took a long time to stop him from fussing, not lastly because Dean wouldn’t quit waving his knife in the air while yelling his frustrations. For now he’s calm, with his eyes drooping and his breaths even.

“What did you do?” Cas asks, still looking at Dean. Sam suppresses the laughter that threatens to spill out of him. The angel has been here a total of maybe two minutes and he already sounds completely done with his brother.

“Me? I didn’t do shit!” Dean sputters. “Why d’you think I did something?”

“Call it an educated guess.” Cas’s voice is laced with the special flavor of attitude that’s exclusively reserved for the older Winchester. He doesn’t even wait for any further response and instead approaches Sam cautiously, crouching down next to the bed with his eyes fixated on the dozing child. He lays two fingers on the boy’s forehead in a barely-there touch. Whatever he finds out through the simple connection, it makes him suck in a sharp breath.

Sam meets the angel’s worried gaze in the semi-darkness. “And?”

“It should not be possible,” Cas says firmly, “but this is definitely Jack. The blend of his soul and his grace is unmistakable.”

“Great,” Dean pipes up from the sidelines. “He went full on _Benjamin Button_ on us.”

“Dean, this is not the time to flex your redundant film knowledge,” Cas says flatly.

“Oh, c’mon, Cas. You liked that movie.”

“Not enough to cry, unlike _some_ of us.”

“ _You shut your mouth_.”

“Guys!” Sam finally interrupts their verbal ping pong match, gently rocking the child in his arms for emphasis. “Back to the real issue. What do we do?”

“Right,” Dean says, presumably still glaring at the angel. “Got any constructive opinions or did you just come down here to bitch at me?”

“I have an idea but you won’t like it,” Cas assesses dryly, not rising to the bait. Without further ado he turns a pained look toward the ceiling.

For a long time nothing happens then there’s a mighty flutter of wings as the one, the only, archangel Gabriel appears in their midst.

“Sheesh, what’s up with the mood lighting?”

With a snap of his fingers, the lights in the bunker come back to life, causing all the humans in the room to squint their eyes against the sudden change in brightness. Once it no longer feels like his retinas are being fried to a crisp, Sam sends a halfhearted glare in Gabriel’s direction.

The archangel pays him no attention, instead directing his palpable annoyance at Cas. “Not gonna lie, can’t say I’ve been missing you already.”

“Believe me, the feeling’s mutual,” Cas replies, equally annoyed.

The voices become nothing but background noise while Sam leaves the explaining to the other two idiots. Between the incessant bickering among all present parties, the as of yet still unexplained light explosion and the equally unexplained but very likely related de-aging of their adoptive nephilim, Sam can distinctly feel a headache coming along. To distract himself he looks down at the boy in his lap. Now that the lights are on he can definitely see the resemblance to the more grown up version of Jack they were arguing with in the kitchen not two hours earlier. The boy’s hair is a slightly lighter, almost golden shade of blond and it falls in strands over his face. His blue eyes still have a tinge of gold in them even now as he curiously meets Sam’s gaze. He seems oddly content with the whole situation as he’s sitting there cradled in Sam’s arms, much to the hunter’s confusion. Maybe whatever affliction has come over him has a memory loss component or something along those lines. Ridiculously, Sam realizes he hasn’t spent much time with any child this young. The look on his face must be quite something because the boy’s features stretch into a wide, adorably dimpled smile. It effectively keeps Sam’s panic at bay, an answering smile tugging at the corners of his lips. No one in distress could smile as carefree as this, so he’ll take that win at least.

“Let me have a looksee at our little patient,” Gabriel suddenly coos from right next to him, almost giving Sam a heart-attack. He motions for Sam to hand the boy over.

“We, ah, didn’t have any clothes this small,” he explains reluctantly as he shifts Jack and his blanket bundle in his arms in order to get him within Gabriel’s reach.

The archangel smirks. “Easy fix.”

With a wave of his hand, Jack is suddenly dressed in a dark blue onesie that’s covered in happily smiling suns and moons. The boy seems slightly startled at the sudden change, the gold in his eyes flaring up. Sam makes a mental note to keep an eye on that even as he allows Gabriel to take him. The archangel is unusually gentle as he settles Jack on his hip. “Heya, buddy. Remember your uncle Gabe?”

Jack remains mute but he looks back at Gabriel with something that could be recognition. In a gesture similar to Cas’s earlier, the archangel touches two fingers to the boy’s forehead and closes his eyes in concentration. His grace grows brightly golden as it pokes and prods around in search of an explanation for Jack’s transformation. The longer it takes, the more Jack begins to fuss. At first he just squirms in Gabriel’s grasp but when he seems to realize he’s not being let go he screeches. It’s not the normal complaint of a human child. The gold swallows up the more innocent blue of his irises entirely as Jack releases a burst of his own power, warping the room around them into an uncomfortable state of slow-motion similar to when he stopped the bullet Dean fired at him at their first meeting at the lake cabin. The shock Sam can feel constricting around his own chest is mirrored on Dean and Cas’s faces across the room. In contrast, Gabriel seems less surprised by the raw display of power coming from the small child he is now struggling to keep a hold on. Slowly he raises a hand to flick his wrist, conjuring a bright red lollipop. Despite his immense power, Jack’s toddler mind is easily appeased by the promise of sugar. The room returns to normal as the gold drains from his eyes. He lets Gabriel push the lollipop into his mouth.

“ _So_ ,” Gabriel says, dragging out the single syllable. “He seems to be perfectly fine.”

“Dude, he’s clearly not fine,” Dean disagrees firmly. “Look, we were doing some case work in town the other day. Who says he stayed put in the car like we told him to? Maybe something happened and he got hexed or-- or he picked up a cursed object.”

“You left him in the _car_?” Cas asks incredulously, and this time his anger is directed as much at Sam as it is at his brother.

“Well, we couldn’t leave him at the _bunker_.”

Guilt twists deep in Sam’s gut at Dean’s words. Truth is, of course they could have left him at the bunker. He would have watched some Netflix and eaten some cereal straight from the box like he does when he thinks no one is looking and that would have been it. There is no good reason to be distrustful of Jack ever since they managed to seal Lucifer away. The problem is that Lucifer is only gone and not dead. No one knows better than Sam that the bastard always finds a way and being biologically related might potentially mean they could establish a connection even across worlds and while Jack closed the rift together with Gabriel, Sam doesn’t doubt that he could re-open it by himself. It wasn’t a risk they were willing to take and their makeshift solution has been to basically keep Jack under near constant surveillance.

“Not to ruin your amazing theory, Dean-o,” Gabriel rejoins the conversation, “but I would have picked up on any curses. Jack seems to still be a fully powered nephilim, only now he’s in the body of a three year old. End of story.”

“I mean, that _is_ his age,” Sam muses out loud, unwillingly connecting the dots. He tells the others about the discussion earlier in the day and how Jack talked about not having had a childhood.

“You think he did this to himself,” Cas concludes hesitantly. “Or at least that his grace may have subconsciously worked to protect him.”

Sam nods. It’s not the craziest theory out there, he decides, though it comes with the painful realization that Jack needed to protect himself from _them_ and the burden they put on him from the very beginning.

“Does that mean he’s stuck that way?” Dean asks.

“Looks like it,” Gabriel agrees. “Though I wouldn’t call it stuck. Little guy seems happy as a peach.” He touches a teasing finger to the boy’s nose, drawing bubbling laughter from him.

Jack then catches Cas’s eye over Gabriel’s shoulder and reaches a hand out to him, even though the angel stands across the room with his hands in his coat pockets. “Cas!” he exclaims, surprising them all.

“Come on, Cas,” Gabriel prompts. “You heard the prince. Until you guys figure out how to keep his powers in check I’d do what he says.”

Sam watches as Cas hesitantly comes close enough for the toddler to be passed into his arms. Jack immediately snuggles his little face into the crook of Cas’s neck. It’s absolutely endearing and though the angel initially looks completely overwhelmed his expression gradually morphs into a gentle smile.

“Wait. Aren’t you gonna help?” Sam asks once his brain catches up with Gabriel’s words.

“Did you think I’d stay and play house with the lot of you?” The archangel laughs. “Oh no, no, no. I got places to be, angels to make. This is on you guys.”

Before Sam can even take a breath to complain, Gabriel is gone.

“What a dick,” Dean mutters and for once they all seem to be in agreement.

**~ * * * ~**

It turns out, Jack really doesn’t want to let go of Cas because several hours later when they are all settled around one of the big tables in the library he’s still sitting in the angel’s lap. Any attempts to extract him have backfired spectacularly, resulting only in more near-explosions. For now Jack seems to be content, mostly due to the fact that Cas is shoving spoon after spoon of sugary cereal in his mouth. Sam tried to protest, thinking something healthier would be more appropriate, but ultimately he had to agree with the others that they did not have the time to prepare a balanced meal. Instead, he has been occupied with surfing the internet for a general idea of items they’ll need to buy if Jack is going to stay de-aged for the foreseeable future. Topping the list are of course clothes, and lots of them. Most of the milk in the bowl has landed on Jack’s onesie instead of in his mouth and while Cas has tried to clean him with some of his grace, the nephilim doesn’t like being mojo’d. Like Gabriel had warned them, everything has to go according to Jack’s wishes, _or else_. So, they should really hit up the closest Target for some value packs of _everything_ , and while they’re at it, it can’t hurt to get some more toys as well, not that he knows much about that either. At least the pastel colored mommy blogs he has found provide a variety of detailed information that helps ease his panic at having to take care of a toddler.

People raise kids all the time, it should be fine.

They should be fine.

Even if their toddler also happens to be the most powerful being in the universe.

While Sam worries enough for all three of them, Dean and Cas don’t seem to be too worried about this whole issue, instead shooting glances at each other that try to be subtle but are anything but. If the majority of Cas’s attention weren’t required by the three-year-old, Sam is sure they’d never take their eyes off each other. Then again, what else is new.

“He’s quite clingy,” Cas remarks as he shifts Jack’s weight in his lap, drawing a plaintive grunt from the boy before he pushes his face back into Cas’s neck in what is quickly becoming a familiar gesture.

“’S not like you’ve been around a lot these past coupla weeks,” Dean grumbles from his spot across from the pair.

“There we go,” Sam mumbles to himself, trying hard to focus on what _Kelsy_87_ is saying about child-friendly laundry detergent. It’s a moot effort, he knows as much. The tension in the room is thick enough to slice with one of the decorative swords resting on the library shelves, even when he’s not actively looking at the others’ bickering. If he’s being honest, he’s surprised things are only escalating _now_.

“Dean, you know my help was required.” Cas says it like it’s the fiftieth time, and knowing the way Dean holds a grudge it probably is.

“Yeah, sure, but that don’t mean you couldn’t have dropped by every once in a while. I mean c’mon, it takes me longer to go on a beer run than it took you to get your ass here today.”

“Time isn’t as linear in Heaven.”

“Oh, so you were cool with being away, that’s-- That’s just awesome, Cas, thanks. You really know how to make a guy feel special.” His brother sounds genuinely hurt and a glance at Cas reveals that the angel at least has the decency to look guilty when Dean gets up and disappears toward the kitchen.

Once he’s gone, Cas heaves a sigh and turns a pained look toward Sam. “Has he been like this the entire time I was gone?”

Sam scoffs. “Today’s actually a good day.”

“My apologies.” Cas is rubbing soothing circles into Jack’s back, who has been quietly complaining, the air around him crackling with grace since Dean stormed out.

“He’s right, you know. About you dropping by,” Sam tells him earnestly. He really doesn’t want to get involved in whatever drama is unfolding between the two of them but at the end of the day, their focus should be on the child and Jack is clearly affected by the hostile environment.

“You’re all making this extremely difficult. Do you think I enjoy being away? After finally getting Jack out of that horrid place, you think it was easy to leave him behind now?” The angel makes a tormented sound somewhere in his throat. “And Dean, he-- during our calls he said it was fine. That he understood.”

“I’m sure he did. Just tell me this, when was the last time Dean actually _asked_ you to stay, in as many words?”

“Never,” Cas says, brow furrowing as he processes this. “Oh. I see.”

“You know, Cas, for being so smart you’re a real idiot sometimes.” Sam suppresses the smile that’s twitching at the corner of his mouth and forces himself to return his focus on his laptop.

“It does appear to be that way.”

Dean chooses this moment to come strolling back in, carrying two beers. Sam recognizes it as the clear jab at Cas it is. Even though their friend doesn’t usually eat or drink, Dean never fails to include him by handing him a bottle or ordering whatever diner food their greasy spoon of the week has to offer. He says it’s to ‘help him blend’ but Sam knows bullshit when he sees it. His brother may be hopeless when it comes to words but his actions speak volumes about how much he cares. And he’s always cared a whole lot about Cas, not that he’ll ever admit it. Some years ago Sam was still teasing him about it, brotherly duty and all, but by now it’s just sad. Especially with the way Dean is forcefully placing a bottle on the table for him while pointedly glaring at the angel. Sam just wants to smash their heads together and yell at them. Instead he hides his frustration behind a long swig of beer and busies himself by bookmarking the blogs that have so far been the most useful.

**~ * * * ~**

Contrary to all the worst case scenarios that have robbed Sam of sleep since the transformation, the three of them manage life as full-time nephilim entertainers quite well. Sure, Jack’s favorite word is ‘ _No_ ’ and he doesn’t hesitate to underline it with surges of reality-morphing powers, but especially Cas is surprisingly efficient in keeping him in check by patiently talking him down whenever things threaten to escalate. Within the first week, they also learned that when Cas _isn’t_ readily available most tantrums can be soothed by swooping the kid up in a hug or by plopping him down in front of the TV. The latter unsurprisingly stems from Dean panicking one day when Jack was wailing for Cas’s presence while the angel had been out on a grocery haul. First his brother tried to push the kid at Sam but he had been on the phone with Jody, trying to help with a rugaru case, and because Dean is _Dean_ he just sat down in one of the recliners in the TV room with Jack in his lap and put on a cartoon, the rest is history.

If Sam is completely honest, he finds himself slightly jealous. Of course their topmost priority is Jack’s well-being but the workload isn’t evenly distributed between them at all. Most of the, well, let’s call it _toddler related paperwork_ has been dumped on him which isn’t surprising as he is the one who actually _likes_ doing research but it also means he gets less bonding time with the kid than the others. When Jack isn’t being carried around by either Dean or Cas, which is ridiculous anyway because he can walk perfectly fine, he’s never far away from either of them. The reason it stings is because Dean has been avoiding Jack for weeks after he came back from Apocalypse World, constantly on his toes to the point that it was insulting and now all of a sudden he’s competing for caretaker of the year award. And Cas, he’s been absent for weeks and on top of it all he’s supposedly got even less experience with children than Sam, yet he’s taking to parenting Jack like a fish to water. It’s really not fair. _Sam_ is the one who’s tried to bond with Jack from the very beginning and now he feels like he’s on the outside looking in at this new family dynamic rather than being a part of it as the little boy walks the halls of the bunker holding Cas’s hand or hanging onto the hem of Dean’s shirt.

He calls Mom to vent one afternoon while the others are busy building LEGO towers on the map table with Cas explaining overly complicated theories on _structural integrity_ to Jack who is really only interested in seeing the bricks fall. He has an ally in Dean who ‘accidentally’ tips over Cas’s tower. The last thing he hears is his brother mumbling something like ‘ _structural integrity, my ass_ ’ when Mom picks up and he walks himself to the kitchen. Feeling self-conscious, he halfway expects her to laugh at him when he shares his frustrations but she’s sympathetic. It hasn’t been easy for her to join their family, she admits, because they were so tight-knit and she missed all the important steps, especially with Sam. Before he can assure her out of habit that she did the best she could, she tells him that sometimes the hardest part about being a parent is being patient. That sometimes it feels like things are bad but then something happens that makes it all worth it. Sam wants to snap at her that that’s bullshit because her being ‘patient’ just meant he and Dean had to do double the work to keep them all together but he stops himself. Instead he says _Thank you_ and hangs up soon after, not really feeling much better.

It’s time for Jack’s afternoon snack so he gets to work on cutting some fruit into small pieces. Bananas and pears are his favorite, because they’re sweet. Tangerines generally end up tossed at the ceiling, so he stopped trying to get the kid to eat those even if they’re a great source of vitamin C. Grapes are hit or miss, usually, but he feels lucky today and adds some to the plate, plopping one or two into his mouth in the process. He carries the plate back to the war room where he has to bite his tongue not to comment on the absolute mess he finds there.

“You want some fruit, Jack?” he asks, sitting down in the chair closest to where the boy is sitting on the table, surrounded by rainbow colored bricks.

Jack eyes the plate suspiciously. “ _Grapes_ ,” he says, like the fruits have personally affronted him. He picks one up and holds it out to Dean. “You eat, Dean-o.”

“Seriously, Gabe called me that _one_ time,” Dean complains mildly before he sucks the offered grape into his mouth. “Your turn, buddy. Grapes are awesome.”

Jack tilts his head, still looking so much like Cas when he does it, and picks at his plate. “Grapes are awesome,” he parrots and eats one himself. Everyone holds their breath as he chews, ready for a potential meltdown. It doesn’t come, Jack just happily continues eating.

“We have the interview at the daycare tomorrow,” Sam reminds the others while the boy is busy with his food.

“Great,” Dean mocks. “Can’t wait.”

“You’re just mad because I told them you and Cas are together.”

“Yeah, because it’s _weird_ , Sam.” The blush creeping up his brother’s ears is a tell-tale sign that ‘weird’ barely begins to cover it.

Sam rolls his eyes. Dean has been making a fuss for the better part of a week over this, especially the part where they all have to show up together for an interview, meaning they have to act accordingly. Not that they’d have to do much acting with the way they’ve been dancing around each other since Cas came to stay but Sam sure as hell isn’t going to say _that_ if he wants his brother to cooperate.

“I thought it would’ve been weirder if I said I was your partner, Dean,” he says instead.

“Why does _anyone_ have to be partners?”

“Because otherwise three guys looking after a kid raises the kind of questions we don’t have answers to, genius.”

Dean huffs and puffs and steals another grape off Jack’s plate.

“It’s no different to pretending we’re federal agents,” Cas says quietly, not looking up from where he’s clearing LEGO pieces off the table.

“Dude, at least that’s believable,” Dean insists grumpily. “’S not like either of us looks the part for this, and I sure as hell ain’t gonna act all limp-wristed to sell it.”

Cas goes very still for a moment before he slowly looks up at Dean, his eyes furious. “I can’t dictate what you say or do outside of this bunker,” he murmurs in an icy voice that seems to freeze the air around them. “But don’t you _ever_ say something this ignorant and disrespectful again with Jack in the room. I’m serious, Dean, I won’t tolerate it.”

Sam watches his brother squirm under the glare and deservedly so. “I-- Yeah. Sorry. I just meant--”

“I don’t care what you meant. What you _implied_ was that there was a certain way someone would have to look or act to be gay, and you know better than that.”

Cas leaves after that, disappearing into the hallway.

“‘ _The lady doth protest too much_ ’,” Sam mumbles under his breath but still loud enough for his brother to hear.

Dean buries his face in his hands for a moment before offering a tired glare. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It _means_ Charlie would’ve kicked your ass for what you just said.”

There’s something close to panic in Dean’s voice when he speaks. “I _know_. Shit, I know that was uncalled for. Just-- the idea of me and Cas acting like _that_ when it’s not-- when _we’re_ not-- I can’t, okay?”

It’s the first time he’s ever openly admitted to anything even tangentially related to the idea of him and Cas as an item and that alone is pitiful enough for some of Sam’s own anger to dissipate. He decides to show some mercy.

“Listen, I don’t think PDA is gonna help us score a spot at the _children’s daycare_ , so don’t overthink it.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Dean takes a couple of deep breaths. “I should go and apologize.”

“Good idea,” Sam agrees, hoping his voice comes out encouraging rather than sarcastic.

His brother points a stern finger at him. “This conversation never happened.”

“What conversation?”

“Thanks, Sammy.” Dean pats his shoulder in passing as he heads toward the dormitories after Cas. “I owe you one.”

Sam will remember that next time the kitchen needs a deep clean after there’s oatmeal spread on every surface, courtesy of Jack who is currently practicing by squishing a piece of banana into the back of a LEGO block.

**~ * * * ~**

Their interview isn’t until early afternoon so Sam starts his day as per usual with a run. Even with the sun barely peeking over the horizon it’s already uncomfortably hot. He decides on his short route that trails through the wooded area surrounding the bunker. Thirty minutes of easy jogging, yet he’s still soaked with sweat when he trots down the metal stair-case, expecting to be alone. Instead he finds Cas idly fiddling with the yellowed pages of an old grimoire.

“Morning, Cas,” he says as he starts his stretching exercises using the bottom steps.

“Good morning,” Cas echoes. He seems more relaxed than when Sam last saw him. “There’s coffee in the kitchen, if you want some.”

“Thanks.” Sam smiles appreciatively. It _is_ nice to have the angel back in the bunker, and not just for the coffee-making either, though for a guy who no longer drinks the stuff Cas is great at picking out the best roasts. Above all, Sam missed having someone other than his brother around. It can get really lonely sometimes in between hunts, not that complaining about it does any good.

Once he’s showered and has some caffeine fueling him he goes to Jack’s room with the plan to make the kid as presentable as he can. Since angel mojo is out of the question, a bath of the human variety is first on the list. Jack is sitting on his bed in a white pair of teddy bear pajamas and chatting with his _Marvelous Marvin_ when Sam comes into his room.

“Bath time,” he announces. “C’mon.”

Jack crawls off the mattress with a cheer.

It’s not getting him into the bath that’s the problem. He loves it, with the bubbles and the little boat he gets to play with. Getting him out once he’s clean and his little fingers are all pruned is another issue entirely, which is why once the time comes Sam holds his breath in a silent prayer to no one in particular.

“No!” Jack says forcefully, struggling against Sam’s grip when he tries to lift him out of the bathtub. “No, Sammy. Play more boat!”

“We can play other games, Jack. You’re gonna get cold if you stay in the water too long.”

He wonders how the hell Cas manages to successfully reason with the boy, because it sure isn’t working for him when one final “ _No_ ” blows the ceiling lights to smithereens.

Not much later there’s footsteps coming down the hall from two different directions and Dean and Cas come bursting through the door.

“Everything alright?” His brother asks breathlessly.

“We had a disagreement over when bath time should end,” Sam explains sheepishly. In the semi-darkness, Jack’s eyes are still glowing. At least this time it was just the bathroom and not the entire bunker. “Cas, do you mind?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t have the same powers as an archangel. We’ll have to replace the bulbs the old-fashioned way.”

“Seriously?” Dean huffs. “What did I even fake-marry you for?”

“The fake wedding gifts, I assume,” Cas deadpans.

Cute, yesterday they were at each other’s throats over this and today they’re already joking. Sam figures he should be grateful even though he’s close to getting whiplash from the emotional back and forth. Rather than lingering on the world’s slowest mating ritual, he uses the darkness to his advantage and pulls Jack out of the bath, not caring that he’s dripping all over his clothes and leaves the room.

Luckily, there aren’t anymore tantrum-related incidents after that and Jack even eats some rice with carrots and peas for lunch without much protest as long as Sam keeps him in his lap and flips through the dinosaur book with him. A warm feeling settles in his chest whenever the boy giggles at a particularly silly-looking picture.

“Yo, Sam,” Dean hollers from somewhere, probably the war room judging by the metallic echo. “Cas ‘n I are good to go.”

Sam helps Jack with the last spoonful of his rice, then asks, “Ready to put on your shoes and meet some friends?”

Jack nods enthusiastically and slides off Sam’s lap. He doesn’t let go of him, instead curling his fingers into his sleeve. “Help, please?”

As Sam pushes the little shoes onto Jack’s feet, letting him close the Velcro fastenings himself, he thinks he might understand what Mom meant by being patient after all, because when Jack smiles up at him with that toothy grin, everything feels worth it.

And if this whole thing also means that Dean and Cas could finally get their heads out of their asses and make life easier for all of them that’s even better.

**~ * * * ~**


	3. Castiel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel finds some profound wisdom in The Little Prince.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I say I'd finish this story by today? I sure am delusional. 
> 
> This chapter was partially written but then got completely derailed by me randomly relapsing into my obsession with The Little Prince, and honestly I'm not too mad about it. 
> 
> Anywho, Happy Valentine's Day, and may today's Twitter Destiel Wedding soothe your souls like it does mine.

The chaotic sound of children’s laughter can be heard long before they round the street corner and Castiel can feel the curiosity spark in Jack’s grace by the way it extends around him. He holds onto his hand a little tighter. Unfortunately the boy won’t get to join in on the games today. It’s too much of a risk. Thirty minutes, that’s all they have to get through without a nephilim related accident. It should be quite doable, some days Jack doesn’t use his powers at all, but today he already blew out the lights in the bathroom so there is really no telling how the interview will go.

At the gate they are warmly greeted by a dark-skinned woman with a gentle smile.

“Lovely that you could make it today,” she says, extending her hand. “I’m Miss Kingston.”

Sam is the first to accept the handshake, introducing himself. “Sam Winchester. We spoke on the phone. This is my brother Dean and his partner Cas.” Castiel tries to ignore the way the supposed relation makes Dean flinch ever so slightly, though it likely isn’t noticeable to someone not well-versed in his body language.

The woman shifts her focus to Castiel’s side, none the wiser. “And this must be little Jack.”

Jack pulls his hand out of Castiel’s grip to lift it in greeting. “Hello,” he says.

“What a polite young man you are,” Miss Kingston coos, not pushing to touch Jack in any way. She seems competent, which is a relief. “Let’s go inside and talk in my office, shall we? It’s way too hot out here.”

Castiel hopes he looks adequately tortured as he nods his thanks. Back at the bunker Dean practically forced him out of the topmost layers of his usual attire, leaving him somewhat exposed in just his shirt and slacks because a) he ‘ _can’t show up at a daycare in a flasher coat_ ’ and b) ‘ _it’s 95 degrees outside, man_ ’. The Winchesters are similarly devoid of layers, most notably lacking any sort of flannel on top of their t-shirts. Rather than lingering on the way the unusual state of undress leaves Dean’s arms exposed, revealing a cluster of freckles that he now can’t ignore is there, he retakes Jack’s hand and follows after Sam and Miss Kingston.

The walls in the woman’s office are plastered with drawings and papermaché projects showing artfully inaccurate depictions of everyday things as well as a whole menagerie of creatures. Castiel eyes them with interest as he takes a seat in the crowded office corner. There’s two chairs and one couch and he opts for the latter, jerking his head at Dean to sit down next to him which earns him an eye-roll that should not feel as offensive as it inevitably does. It’s no secret how fragile Dean’s masculinity is, at least not to anyone close to him, so this particular brand of Dean’s discomfort is nothing new, as tiresome as it has gotten over the years. Still, Castiel hoped when Dean had the mind to apologize for his flippant comment the previous day that he would put at least some semblance of effort into looking like he was at this meeting willingly.

In the end it’s Jack that manages the impossible and breaks through all of Dean’s barriers a moment later by holding out a crayon he must have picked up from the nearby crafting table. “Draw me a sheep!”

All eyes in the room turn on Dean as he accepts the item and starts scribbling on a blank piece of paper, delighting the boy endlessly. It’s a very simplified version of a sheep that takes up residence on the paper but the way Dean draws each little line with care while stealing glances at Jack to bask in his reaction is a precious sight to behold. When Dean hands the crayon back with the words “ _Your turn, buddy_ ,” that he has taken to using so often with the boy in order to engage him in activities, Castiel feels his heart swell in his chest and has to avert his eyes to stop himself from being caught staring.

“Someone’s quite a fan of sheep,” Miss Kingston observes as she watches Jack draw a near copy of Dean’s initial sketch.

Dean replies without tearing his eyes away from Jack, a fond smile on his lips. “Yeah, should’ve never gotten him hooked on _The Little Prince_. It’s been only sheep and snakes and elephants ever since.”

“It’s a lovely story. What made you choose it for Jack?”

Castiel speaks up on instinct, opting to stay as close to the truth as he can without revealing anything inappropriate about their situation. “It seemed fitting after my brother awarded Jack with the title of prince, due to the fact that he can be quite… assertive.”

“That’s very sweet,” Miss Kingston allows, though Castiel is beginning to tire of being placated. Her answers are all perfectly nice and polite, but even with his rusty people skills he can recognize that the woman is weighing each piece of information they give very carefully. It’s unnerving, not lastly because they are in fact being utterly dishonest.

“I know this is a sensitive subject, and we are open to all sorts of family constellations here, but from what you’ve told me so far all of Jack’s close family members are male. Are you in contact with his biological mother or another female role model perhaps?”

Castiel gets the distinct feeling that he should take offense to this question. He squints at the woman. “Jack’s mother died in childbirth. She was a dear friend.”

“I’m sorry, that must have been hard. I assume the trauma is why his language development is slightly lagging behind?”

“It is?” Sam’s eyebrows rise high on his forehead as he looks nervously between the woman and the boy in question before he regains his composure. “I mean, yes. That’s-- that’s why.”

“If you are interested I can refer you to a specialist, though it’s quite possible he will catch up quickly once he socializes more with other children.”

“Jack’s learning at his own pace. We take good care of him,” Dean says firmly, looking directly at the woman for the first time since they sat down.

She immediately takes a submissive stance. “I did not mean to imply otherwise, Mr Winchester, my apologies. I am sure you and your partner are providing a loving home.” There’s a tense moment of silence during which Castiel is prepared to stop Dean from launching himself at her. He places a hand on Dean’s knee in what is supposed to be a grounding touch before he can think the better of it. Dean lets it happen, even relaxes a bit which makes Castiel feel nothing short of victorious. He so rarely gets an excuse to touch Dean these days, much less one where his touch is welcomed.

“How did you meet, if you don’t mind me asking?”

For a moment the room goes even more quiet except for Jack’s idle chatter as he draws yet another snake. Of all the things Castiel had thought to prepare in order to answer questions about their pretend family dynamic, the most obvious one has escaped him. Sam seems similarly caught off-guard, which means they are both surprised when Dean ends up answering her. “I, uh. Twelve years ago I was in a pretty bad place. Didn’t think I’d ever-- _recover_ , but Cas. He shows up one day and saves me. Just like that. Guess the rest is history.”

The unexpected candor in Dean’s words hits Castiel deeply. Of course this is an almost insultingly simplified version of events, but it’s true nonetheless. Sometimes it seems so wrong that out of all the millennia of his existence, only a dozen years have been spent with Dean. He doesn’t remember a time where this one human with his blindingly bright soul wasn’t the center of his universe. It’s an odd realization to have right there in the head office of a daycare center, yet here he is completely awe-struck. Sensing his paralysis, Dean rests a hand on his shoulder and squeezes gently, though he’s now back to avoiding everyone’s eyes. Castiel is suddenly very aware that his hand has never left Dean’s knee, giving them two points of contact. It does not help his oncoming existential crisis in any way.

Luckily the conversation moves on to more practical topics like how many days of care are required and payment options. Sam is happy to take the lead on those details, though he might be over-stepping his cover as merely an uncle as he does so. Somewhere in the periphery of his mind, Castiel finds some guilt at the fact that in this context, the younger Winchester is not considered an equal guardian to Jack, despite the fact that without him he and Dean would have been lost more often than not. While Dean is exceptional in his parental role seeing as he raised Sam himself, for the most part he did so as more of a clandestine operation while trying hard to avoid people and services like that of Miss Kingston. Castiel, on the other hand, has only had minuscule interactions with children and already felt inadequate when Jack was his more grown-up self. Ultimately, he feels a surge of gratitude toward Sam for always being so level-headed in these matters. He makes a mental note to be more vocal of his appreciation of the role he has taken on in Jack’s life.

He almost changes his mind when their visit ends soon after with Miss Kingston telling them she would be delighted for Jack to be part of her little angels, which makes Castiel choke on air before he realizes that they have not accidentally blown their cover. Instead, Sam seems to find infinite humor in the fact that this particular daycare is, in fact, called _Little Angels_. On top of that, Dean has returned to his usual self again as soon as they left the premises, which of course means he immediately became a traitor.

“Gotta admit it’s a bit funny, Cas.”

Castiel focuses on strapping Jack into his car seat in the back of his truck rather than meeting what is sure to be a smug expression on either Winchester’s face. “They are not even using the correct plural for the group names,” he complains. “It’s seraphim, not _seraphs_.”

“Really, _that’s_ your issue?” Dean sneaks a hand into the pocket of Castiel’s pants to steal his car keys and Castiel doesn’t even think to flinch at the intrusion.

“Imagine it as a ‘Han shot first’ situation. There’s two versions in circulation, yet there is an objectively correct answer if one is to believe your _elaborate_ analysis.”

When he straightens himself up he finds Dean staring at him with his hand on the halfway opened car door. “Dude. I didn’t think you were listening when I ranted about that.”

The genuine affection in Dean’s eyes makes warmth coil in his stomach as he returns the expression. “I always listen to you, Dean,” he reassures softly. They probably stand there staring at each other for an inappropriate amount of time but for the life of him Castiel can’t find the will to look away.

Naturally the moment is interrupted by Sam, who clears his throat from the passenger seat. “Guys? You ready to go or--?”

It immediately snaps Dean out of his stupor and he too climbs into the car. Castiel can’t deny his disappointment at the loss of intimacy as he slides into the back seat next to Jack. Before Dean starts the car he turns to look over his shoulder as if to check on them. “So Jack, what do you think? You gonna join the seraphim or the-- cherub _im_?” He looks at Castiel as if to seek his approval on the correct plural, drawing a smile from him as he nods.

Jack’s brow furrows for a moment. “I’m a neflim,” he insists, adorably stumbling over the word _nephilim_. Which, curiously, does not have a translated singular form, not that Castiel thinks anyone is interested in this particular information.

"Yes you are,” Dean laughs, turning around again and twisting the key in the ignition in one smooth motion. “But for now you can also be a seraph, like Cas. You're just extra special."

It makes Jack giggle. “Cas is special too?”

In the rearview mirror, Dean’s bright green eyes meet Castiel’s, causing his stomach to flip pleasantly even before the hunter speaks. “Damn right he is.”

**~ * * * ~**

It’s a few days later when the rare but warmly familiar sound of Dean’s laughter echoes from the direction of the TV room and Castiel finds himself helplessly drawn to it. He was on the way to the archives in order to look at some spells that might help stabilize the effects of a nephilim tantrum, yet here he is now peeking into the dimly lit room only reluctantly referred to as “Dean Cave”. His heart melts into a puddle at the scene he witnesses. Jack is sat on the floor, transfixed by the TV where a familiar Great Dane shakes comically at the prospect of something supernatural going on. Behind him, Dean is halfway reclined in one of the La-Z-Boys, bellowing with laughter at the same scene he must have seen a dozen times.

“Are we sure this is age appropriate?” Castiel asks, announcing his presence as he takes the few steps into the room until coming to a halt somewhere behind Dean’s shoulder.

“Please, I’m pretty sure I’ve had Sammy hooked on _Scooby Doo_ when he was much younger than this little nugget.” He gently nudges Jack with a socked foot, making the child squeal in a mix of surprise and delight. “Plus, if I have to sit through another episode of freakin’ _Paw Patrol_ I’ll shoot myself. If it’s gotta be a talking dog, I’ll go with the classics.”

Castiel just finds himself humming in vague understanding. He, too, only watches _Paw Patrol_ in a diplomatic effort to save the TV from exploding in a fit of toddler rage. Deciding to stay a bit longer, he rests an elbow on the headrest of Dean’s chair, trying to follow the episode. He pretends not to notice the affectionate smile on Dean’s face as his head moves to lean into his arm, though he stops just short of it.

“Hey Jack,” Dean suddenly says, straightening himself up as if he caught himself doing something inappropriate. “Do you know our friend Cas here has met the Scooby gang?”

The boy’s head snaps around. “Really?”

“Hell, yeah.” He feels Dean tug at the loose-hanging belt of his coat in a playful action that shows he remembers this particular adventure with fondness. Castiel offers a smile.

“Wow.” Jack looks to be in the sort of genuine awe that human children are so delightfully generous with. “Scooby’s my favorite,” he announces before turning his attention right back to the TV where said favorite is folding himself into an inconvenient hiding place.

“Mine too, kid,” Dean agrees.

“Oh?” Castiel leans down, lowering his voice enough that Jack won’t hear. “I remember you being quite a lot more intrigued by _Daphne_.”

Dean’s shoulders go rigid with what Castiel knows is embarrassment and he allows himself a triumphant grin, always happy to see Dean flustered. Serves him right for making him team up with the cowardly duo in order to pursue a romantic interest. After a few torturous seconds during which he lets Dean stew in his hurt pride, he decides to return to his original research mission. He pats Dean’s shoulder in a sign of truce and turns to leave. To his surprise the hunter catches his hand and gives it a soft squeeze. His heart stutters in a mirror response but he decides the action is to be ignored by the both of them judging by the way Dean’s eyes remain focused on the TV. On the way out he swallows down the traitorous feeling of hope that always seems to stick to him, a residue of Dean’s touch however small and insignificant it may be.

Against what Dean may try to convince others of, he is a tactile person at heart. His work requires him to be good with his hands, even if it is to inflict violence. In contrast to that, Dean also shows his affection through touch, and is quite liberal with his hugs – the exception being Castiel. It’s not bitterness exactly that settles in his heart whenever he witnesses the hunter’s openness with others while he stays so physically guarded with him, despite the fact that they have a much more significant connection. Castiel is not stupid, nor is he naive. Dean is not recoiling from touching him most days for lack of want, his longing far louder than his clearest prayers ever could have been whenever it reaches him. It’s not always the same, an ebb and flow that changes not only with time but also with proximity. Some years it was stronger whenever Castiel was called away, fighting a war, captured, or banished. Whenever he returned, Dean’s longing would quiet down, content with having him back. Nowadays it is more constant, an ever-present tug at Castiel’s consciousness whenever he is away and it never disappears. If anything, it has become stronger now that he is at the bunker and if the looks Dean sends his way, so hurt and yet so relieved to have him here, aren’t enough to fully capture Castiel’s attention, his yearning has become so searing that he couldn’t escape it if he tried. Not that he would ever try. If this is all Dean can give him he’d be a fool to turn it down. So no, Castiel is not _bitter_ but he is frustrated at the fact that Dean does not seem to realize whatever he wants or needs, Castiel is willing to give.

**~ * * * ~**

The Men of Letters archives never cease to amaze Castiel by simultaneously holding so much knowledge and utter chaos, making it near impossible to find anything specific within a reasonable time frame. On top of that, angel lore is convoluted and Jack is the only archangel nephilim in existence. As a result it takes another week before his and Sam’s combined research efforts provide a solution that has the potential to solve the issue of Jack’s unprecedented power in his suddenly so compact body. The ritual is not terribly complex and the Enochian is frankly abhorrent but it seems to allow even an archangel’s power to be contained through a set of sigils that are carved into the target’s ribs. The invasive nature of this solution comes with expected backlash from both Winchesters, who tend to be more deceived by Jack’s innocently wide-eyed appearance no matter how many light bulbs they have replaced in the bunker after various _incidents_.

Despite his apprehension, Sam is quick to gather all the ingredients for the spell that will etch the warding sigils into Jack’s ribs. They decide to do the ritual in the familiar surroundings of the boy’s room to make him as comfortable as they can. Castiel has tried to prepare him for what they are about to do, explaining that his strength could hurt other people even when he doesn’t mean to, so they will play a little game to help with that. Jack seemed to understand to the extend that was expected of a three year old. It is still going to be quite the adjustment, but for the moment the boy is curiously watching them work. Actually it’s mostly Sam who spreads a selection of ingredients around the bed, once again showing his growing proficiency in certain magic, though Castiel adjusts some of the Enochian sigils with a surge of his own grace when the younger Winchester isn’t looking. He knows Sam can handle constructive criticism much better than Dean but this is not the time to cause insecurities.

“What’s that?” Jack prompts, just like he did for every other ingredient Sam has unpacked.

“Holy oil.”

Castiel finds himself recoiling when he is reminded of the contents of the bottle in Sam’s hand and his retreat suddenly puts him right in the path of Dean’s restless pacing. They don’t bump into each other but they do end up standing close enough that as little as a deep breath from either of them could make their shoulders brush. Castiel is almost tempted to test the theory but ultimately remains content with their current proximity.

“You sure this is safe?” Dean asks, keeping his voice low and his gaze focused on where Jack is lying on his stomach on the bed.

“I would not do anything to endanger Jack. He will not be physically harmed, the sigils will simply appear on his bones and render his grace temporarily dormant.”

“So like angelic stand-by mode?”

“That is quite an apt description of the ritual, actually.” He steals an amused glance at Dean. While not a man of many words, the hunter’s blunt way of assessing a situation often cuts right to the core of the issue at hand but the way Dean overplays his perceptiveness with humor, not quite willing to commit to his own ability, vexes Castiel to no end. It awakens the strong need in him to grab the man by his perpetually tense shoulders and shake some sense into him to make him see that he is not _less than_. Of course the task of making Dean Winchester acknowledge his worth has always been Sisyphean work on a _good_ day but as long as there’s any determination at all left in Castiel, he will continue to do it for as long as Dean will allow him to. Who knows, maybe one day he will have the guts to give into the urge and shake him into oblivion. For now he sticks with his verbal praise and hopes for the best.

“I think we can start,” Sam announces to the room, grabbing the ancient lore book containing the spell from where it’s been sitting on the dresser. “Remember how to play this game, Jack?”

“Yes!” Jack rolls onto his back and grabs for the nearest stuffed animal at his side. “Me an’ Marvin play asleep!”

“Very good. And no peeking!” Sam warns, not quite able to keep the worry out of his voice completely.

“No one likes a cheater,” Jack retorts as he determinedly squeezes his eyes shut. It’s a quote he copied from Dean one day when he caught Sam peeking into his cards during a lazy game of UNO. Something in Castiel’s chest tightens at the way Jack mimics the exact inflection in Dean’s voice, overwhelmed by the familiarity it implies between the two, but he doesn’t get a chance to see Dean’s reaction before the ritual commences.

Next to him, the hunter goes rigid when Sam starts reading the spell. Since nothing in the literature mentioned potential side effects for other celestials in its proximity, they thought it might be best for Castiel to take on more of an observing role rather than doing the ritual himself. While probably a sensible idea, it makes his body itch with inaction now and he too feels himself tense up. This is apparently the nudge that pushes his body the last few inches into Dean’s, their arms suddenly touching from the backs of their hands all the way up to their shoulders. Neither of them steps away. It even feels like Dean leans into him for a moment, though that may as well be wishful thinking.

Only a few minutes pass until Sam finishes reading and looks up from the book, eyebrows raised. Nothing happened that would indicate magic having taken place on the surface but the energy in the room feels different. Drained, somehow. Castiel makes his way to the bed, mindful to steer clear of the patches of holy oil on the floor. Jack’s eyes fly open when he gently lays a hand on the boy’s chest, feeling for his ribs.

“I win?”

“Yes, well done.” He tries to smile warmly but fears it comes off more distracted as he looks back at the brothers who are clearly waiting for his verdict. “I think it worked, but I don’t know how best to test it.”

“Oh, I do.” Dean smirks. “Who’s up for testing the bulbs in the bathroom?”

**~ * * * ~**

It turns out the spell not only worked but is also much more powerful than they expected. In the course of the following days Jack’s tantrums stay of the human variety, only the slightest shimmer of gold in his eyes sparking whenever he tries to use his grace. The boy is evidently displeased by the development and has become even more moody than he used to be whenever he finds himself powerless against his sworn nemeses – namely, bedtime and certain vegetables. The color green is apparently a particular offense when it comes to the latter, which is especially absurd. Castiel can’t claim to ever have branched out a lot in his culinary endeavors but he is fairly certain that color doesn’t affect flavors to the claimed degree. Jack very pointedly rejects this reasoning by tossing a floret of steamed broccoli across the room during dinner. While the telekinetic force of his grace was certainly useful for this purpose, it is evidently not a requirement. In fact, the resulting mess is even bigger now that Jack has discovered the joys of squishing his ammunition in his little hands before launching his attacks. Dean’s influence seems to be making quite the strategist out of him, which is just all kinds of unfair to Castiel, who was already smitten with the child before he became so undeniably like _Dean_.

“Jack, please, I’m _begging_ you just eat _one_ little piece of broccoli,” Sam whines as he drags some green mush out of his hair, clearly frustrated with the boy in his lap.

“The parenting books I’ve read discourage from being too submissive at this age. We need to assert authority,” Castiel offers, side-stepping a baby carrot missile.

It earns him a ‘bitch face’ from Sam. “The parenting books _I’ve_ read encourage you to come up with a better fu-- _freaking_ idea.”

Castiel thinks for a moment before sitting down on the stool across from them to pick a single floret off the plate with his fingers. “It’s like little trees.”

He smiles encouragingly before biting into it with pretend gusto. Due to the sheer power of the spell, his own grace is only a very subdued presence whenever he is close to Jack but it’s still not faded enough for him to taste anything beyond molecules. He takes a second bite in spite of it, chewing on the flavorless mass with determination.

Sam’s mouth twitches before he speaks, though whether it’s with irritation or amusement is unclear. “Okay, what are you doing?”

Castiel finds himself blushing when he realizes what compelled him to try this approach. “With grapes it helps when Dean eats one first.”

As if on cue, the hunter in question rounds the corner to join them on the front lines of the battlefield. “ _Or_ we just give him food that he’ll eat by choice.”

Castiel watches him make a beeline for the fridge where he takes out some of the previous day’s pasta leftovers, already dreading where this particular affront to cooking is headed. A pack of taco shells joins the bland noodles on the counter. So does a bottle of ketchup. Castiel doesn’t eat but he knows even before Sam’s protesting grunt that these aren’t ingredients that should be combined under any circumstances. With the morbid curiosity that comes with watching a natural disaster unfold he looks on as Dean takes a fistful of noodles and stuffs it into an empty corn shell before generously christening his creation with ketchup. He holds it up with a wide grin on his face.

“See? Spaghetti tacos!”

One bite is enough to undermine the excitement in Dean’s words. Jack spits it out with enough force for a splatter of noodles and ketchup to make it all the way across the table and onto Castiel’s shirt. He sends Dean an irate look as he remembers he cannot use his grace, dooming him to at least an hour of doing human laundry because the washing machine in the bunker is most definitely cursed if past attempts have been any indication.

Sam laughs heartily at their expense, both Dean’s hurt pride and Castiel’s dread apparently thoroughly entertaining to him. He then looks down at Jack and shrugs. “It’s okay, you don’t have to eat the broccoli any more. You can have _all_ of Dean’s taco instead!”

Castiel recognizes the attempt at reverse psychology and nods his approval, curious about the outcome. It turns out to work quite brilliantly.

Jack shouts a loud _“Ew”_ and stabs his fork into some of the vegetables left on his own plate, though without much enthusiasm. “I eat little trees.”

Sam snickers triumphantly as he shoots a look at his brother. “A little less _Worst Cooks in America_ and a little more _Masterchef_ next time.”

“Hey, you loved those as a kid.”

“It was between eating _that_ or not eating at all, Dean. Not like I had much of a choice.”

“Alright, Gordon Ramsay. Tell me what you really think, why don’t you.”

Castiel knows the bickering between the brothers holds no real heat, still Dean downright pouts as he shoves a bite of his creation into his own mouth and chews noisily. It should be repulsive for so many reasons, yet Castiel feels nothing but affection for the man, making him question once more why out of all the possible humans, this had to be the one to steal his heart together with his sanity. The feeling only deepens when Sam carries Jack out of the room to help him change into clean clothes, leaving the two of them alone. As soon as he’s finished eating Dean grabs himself a beer and joins Castiel at the table, taking Sam’s seat.

For a long time they sit in companionable silence as Dean drinks, something clearly on his mind.

“Is something wrong?”

After another long swig from his bottle, Dean forces a smile. “Nah.”

Castiel presses on. “Dean.”

“Seriously, Cas, I’m good. It just ain’t easy sometimes, dealing with all this.”

“Is it because Jack rejected your _delectable_ creation?”

Dean snorts. “Listen, I know it’s dumb. But I wasn’t kidding when I said Sam loved spaghetti tacos. Sure, they taste like ass but it’s one of the things I made for him when I was like nine or something and I remember it being fun.”

“You have always been a nurturing person, Dean. Sam is lucky to have you, and so is Jack.”

“Easy to say that _now_ ,” Dean murmurs. “Last thing I told the kid was to grow the fuck up, which is what started this whole mess.”

“That’s not true. Jack didn’t _disappear_ anywhere, Dean. He is right here and we are all doing the best we can, that’s what counts. What happened is not solely on you, all of us have failed him. Which is why we should be grateful to have gotten this chance to do right by him, for once.”

“How come you always know what to say.” It’s a statement rather than a question, said so quietly into the space between them that Castiel almost misses it.

Their eyes meet and for a moment Dean’s guard is completely down. He just looks at him openly, fully vulnerable, and this time Castiel doesn’t need his grace to feel the force of his longing. He gently places his hand on the table in a thinly veiled effort to lessen the distance between them. When he speaks, his reply is equally quiet. “I like to believe I have become quite proficient in reading you over the years.”

For barely a second Dean’s eyes flicker downward as his hand twitches toward Castiel’s but before their fingers touch, Dean aborts the gesture and curls his hand into a fist instead. He taps the table twice with his knuckles, his expression morphing into a forced smile as his guard comes back up. “If you say so, Cas.”

It’s clearly not what Dean wants to say but it’s still the end of the conversation as he gets up and walks out, leaving Castiel behind with the mess in the kitchen and his half-empty bottle.

Castiel uses the rest of the beer to wash down his disappointment.

**~ * * * ~**

It’s late by general human terms when he passes Jack’s room the next night only to hear him chatting with his toys when he should have been asleep for hours already. Sam tucked him in before he and Dean left to go into town for a night out, exhausted by the bunker’s domestic chaos. They deserve the time off and Castiel can’t claim he feels the same need to throw himself into Lebanon’s nightlife, much preferring his time alone with Jack. Like he told Dean the previous day, he feels lucky to have gotten this new chance at being the parent he promised Kelly he would be after failing quite spectacularly at his first attempt. It was entirely unfair to have put so many expectations on Jack, especially considering Castiel had experienced firsthand how utterly confusing the human world could be and he feels a deep sense of shame at the way he handled the situation. Not only for how long it took to get Jack back from Apocalypse world but also for leaving him with the aftermath. The Winchesters never asked to be pulled into this mess and in hindsight Castiel had been all too happy to take his leave to deal with things he felt more familiar with under the pretense of helping Gabriel adjust. In truth, the archangel is more than capable in his new role, a competent leader under a superficial mask of innuendo. Heaven is thriving under his influence, perhaps for the first time, and Castiel had long overstayed his welcome even if he didn’t know it at the time. It only became clear now after his return to the bunker where his place in the world truly is, and he is determined not to let his own fears and insecurities get the better of him like so often before. This time his mission is not about fighting a war, it’s just about providing a loving home. About being caring and protective of this child that through no fault of his own got tossed into the scrambles of the divine war that’s been raging since the beginning of time itself.

Jack in his current state is oblivious to his doomed existence between realms and really, Castiel wants to keep it this way for as long as he can. It’s likely his memories of the past three years will return one day when his brain is matured to the point that he can process his experiences. For now all that reminds of his trauma are the nightmares he wakes up from several times a week, his wailing echoing through the bunker. It’s a relief that tonight it’s laughter rather than crying that spills into the hallway.

The room is only barely illuminated by a nightlight when Castiel steps inside. “It’s very late, Jack,” he says softly as he crosses the space to sit on the edge of the bed, gently patting the boy’s blanketed legs.

A look somewhere between mischief and guilt crosses over Jack’s features. “Marvin can’t sleep.”

Humoring him, Castiel looks pointedly at the teddy bear cradled in Jack’s arms. “Is that so?”

Jack nods. “Yeah. He’s scared.”

“Well, luckily he has you to protect him.” Castiel ruffles Jack’s hair lovingly. “Do you think he could go back to sleep after a story?”

With a giggle the boy turns his head toward the bear and pretends to relay the question. To say his toothy grin when he looks back at Castiel is disarming would be an understatement. “Marvin wants _Little Prince_.”

“Of course he does.”

The book is still on the bedside table, carelessly dog-eared where Dean must have left off the last time. He shrugs out of his jacket and leaves his shoes at the foot of the bed to get appropriately comfortable. The shirt he’s wearing isn’t his own but one of Sam’s, though it was previously unworn. Just a forgotten item out of a nondescript value pack that he needed to borrow when he inevitably lost his fight with the cursed washing machine, much to the younger Winchester’s amusement.

He settles against the headboard next to Jack, allowing him to scoot closer until his little body is curled against his side. It’s obvious that he is tired, especially without his grace to fuel his human body but for now his stubbornness still wins out against sleep. So Castiel begins to read about the little prince meeting a fox. Having listened to Sam and Dean before, he tries to give the characters different voices and regardless of how silly it may sound it certainly feels like a victory when Jack giggles at the low grumble he decides to give the fox

They only got about halfway through the short chapter, thanks to a somewhat lengthy discussion about why keeping a fox at the bunker would perhaps not be a good idea, when the door to the room opens and Dean pokes his head in.

“Honey, I’m home,” he jokes.

Castiel rolls his eyes but he can’t quite keep the smile off his face. He watches Dean hesitate at the door before something seems to win over and he steps inside. Castiel never bothered to turn on a proper light so the flush on Dean’s cheeks only becomes evident when he stands next to the bed.

“Dean-o,” Jack mumbles his sleepy greeting, apparently only now making Dean aware that he’s still awake.

“Hey, little buddy. How come you’re still up?”

“ _Marvin_ had trouble sleeping,” Castiel explains. “So we thought we’d read about the little prince and the fox.”

“That’s the best part of the book!” Dean’s face lights up with childlike excitement. “Got room for one more?”

It’s clearly a rhetorical question as he immediately follows it with kicking off his boots and tossing them somewhere next to where Castiel’s own shoes are before he climbs into the bed on Jack’s other side. He smells like smoke from the bar and a hint of beer but Dean isn’t drunk by any means. Just buzzed enough to be pleasantly carefree as his hand settles over Jack’s side. For a long moment Castiel finds himself unable to return to the book, captivated by the sheer domesticity of the situation, especially after Dean has been flip-flopping so painfully between unusual intimacy and complete withdrawal from him as of late.

“Where’s Sam?” It’s a neutral question, yet Castiel feels like his heart is beating loud enough to betray the false calm in his voice.

“Asleep in the car.” Dean chuckles, pressing his face into the pillow to stifle the sound. “Such a dork.”

“You’re both dorks,” Castiel decides, hoping his teasing tone is a safe choice to make Dean stay.

It is.

“Less chatting, more reading.”

With both Jack and Dean turning expectant eyes on him there is no way to refuse the request, so he continues on. It really is a lovely part of the book that teaches a wonderful lesson about friendship and longing. Perhaps it’s even more meaningful now that Dean is listening. Only a few sentences in, Jack is snoring softly and it’s really just Castiel reading to the hunter. It’s strangely intimate, sharing the fox’s sentiment with someone as evasive as Dean but at the same time it suddenly feels so important to have him hear it. With every line from the story, Castiel feels the tension in the room grow as he reads about taming one another, even if it means the other’s absence will hurt. It truly resonates with him beyond his wildest expectations. Like the little prince returns to the fox each day only to sit a bit closer, Castiel fell for Dean in stages. It was Dean who taught him what it meant to belong somewhere, the significance of chosen family, the value of free will, the difference between love and devotion. Their bond has only ever grown stronger and despite all mistakes _,_ the hunter has become his very own fox.

When Castiel finishes the chapter and looks up from the pages, Dean returns his look almost timidly, as if he too understands the profound significance of the story to Castiel. It’s a quiet moment of mutual understanding that passes between them and if there was ever a time to be bold, it seems to be now. He reaches over, slowly but confidently, and tangles his hand into Dean’s short hair. It’s sticky with dried sweat and hair product but that doesn’t even fully register with him when Dean leans into the caress freely. His eyes close and he deflates with a deep breath.

Time loses all importance as they stay there in these early morning hours, with Dean drifting off into a peaceful sleep, Castiel’s hand in his hair and Jack cradled between them. He is truly beautiful like this, his face slack and the lines on it softened as all tension in his muscles dissipates.

Watching him, Castiel loves him so very deeply he almost aches from it.

At some point Sam stumbles past in the hallway and peeks inside the room as well to check on Jack. He doesn’t seem too surprise to find them huddled together on the boy’s bed, just offers a warm smile and mouths his _goodnight_ before he disappears to his own room, leaving Castiel once more alone with his hunter and his thoughts.

In his sleep, Dean makes a soft noise of contentment that draws Castiel’s attention to him as the words from the book echo in his head.

_You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed._

He realizes right then and there that this is what they _both_ want. Dean may still struggle when he is awake, but his body betrays him mercilessly in the way he melts into Castiel’s touch when he takes up the gentle caress again.

It’s comforting to know that somehow they have tamed each other.

**~ * * * ~**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for the Grand Finale


	4. Dean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean slowly transforms into a soccer mom and maybe possibly has some realizations about what he's feeling.

When Dean slowly drifts back to consciousness, he feels weird for multiple reasons. He’s well-rested, for one, which only happens once in a blue moon if at all, but this isn’t his bed. The clear lack of memory foam tells him as much, with his right arm dead asleep at his side where the stiff mattress evidently _doesn’t_ remember him. Also his tongue feels unpleasantly dry in his mouth, which tells him he should really get up and find a glass of water for a change to surprise his liver. Reluctant to open his eyes just yet he shifts his body so he’s lying on his back to take some weight off his arm. The motion causes someone to giggle into his ear.

“Dean! You’re awake!”

It’s Jack’s voice, which suddenly makes him remember exactly where he is. He got home from the bar last night only to find Jack and Cas all cozied up in the boy’s bed at two in the goddamn morning, with no right to look as adorable as they did. He wasn’t really drunk, but he’d had enough to lower his inhibitions to the point that he couldn’t deny himself some of that comfort. Plus, Cas was about to read a bedtime story and if there is one thing Dean finds himself powerless against, it’s having a shameless excuse to listen to his friend talk. The beer just helped take the shame of wanting it out of the equation, making it easier to climb into bed with the pair and just letting himself sink into Cas’s soothing voice. But that was last night. Today his buzz is long gone and the shame is back full force as he vividly remembers the way Cas looked at him when he finished the story, with such an emotional force in his eyes it would have knocked Dean over if he hadn’t been nestled in the pillows of Jack’s bed. And after that, when he fell asleep to Cas freaking petting him like he was a cat-- _Jesus_. He really needs to get up and escape _those_ memories.

Opening his eyes he finds himself face to face with Jack’s toothy grin, which he can’t help but return, though his _good morning_ gets stuck in his throat when he catches a glimpse of Cas who apparently is also still here. He didn’t notice the night before but now with the main light in the room on he sees that the angel isn’t wearing his crisp white shirt. Instead he’s dressed in some bulky blue number that should bring out his eyes but really just falls flat in comparison.

“Whose shirt is that?” The question comes out before he has the mind to stop himself.

For a moment Cas looks confused as he regards his own attire. “Sam gave it to me. Mine is still drying.”

And okay, alright-- _wow_. It should really _not_ bother him that apparently Cas and Sam are sharing clothes now but it somehow does. A lot. “Well, it looks dumb on you,” he says, though he regrets his words when genuine hurt flickers over Cas’s features.

“It’s all I have. Would you prefer I walk around shirtless instead?” There’s a challenge in the angel’s eyes Dean clearly isn’t quite prepared for five fucking minutes after waking up, because his first instinct is to say he _really wouldn’t_ _mind_ and that’s just-- No.

Instead he says, “You can have one of mine.” Like that’s any better.

At least Cas doesn’t look hurt anymore when he thanks him with way too much candor for what little Dean is offering.

The weirdness of the situation is interrupted when Jack climbs onto his chest, clearly no longer willing to let himself be ignored like that. Dean starts tickling him, more than happy for the distraction. He laughs at Jack’s squeals, remembering when Sammy was still a kid like this and needed to be pulled out of a bad mood. Lifting the boy up above him to give him a break between tickle attacks, he finds it’s much easier to do so when the child is not about half your own size. He sometimes forgets how hard it was with Sam, how much effort it took to be a parental figure when he was just a little boy himself. It’s not something he wishes on anybody, though he likes to think he and Sam had been happy sometimes. He deeply regrets the way he treated Jack just before his… transformation. _This_ is what the kid deserves, having fun without worries surrounded by people who care about him, even if it’s something Dean never got to have past this age. It was selfish and vindictive to tell a three year old, however mature he seemed at the time, to grow up. He knew that right after he said it, and it still haunts him now. The words can’t be taken back but he can do his damnedest to be better for Jack, like Cas had said.

Speaking of Cas, the angel takes the opportunity to get up and gathers his things from around the bed, watching them play with a fond expression on his face. When Dean meets his eyes from under the kicking and screaming toddler, he finds a hint of smugness in them. “I’ll go take a shower and then take you up on your offer.”

And with that he’s out the door, leaving Dean to wonder what offer he’s talking about because his brain is still not fully back online and Jack lands a swift kick to his gut before it can provide an answer.

“I’m sorry,” Jack mutters, clearly horrified that he hurt him.

“S’alright,” Dean grunts, setting the kid down on the mattress and rubbing at the sore spot. While he just earlier remembered being too young for child-rearing, he suddenly feels incredibly old. “How ‘bout we go make some breakfast?”

Jack’s face lights up like a damn Christmas tree. “Cas said you’ll make pancakes.”

And well, if Cas said so then who is Dean to say no.

**~ * * * ~**

It’s more than an hour later after all pancakes have been devoured by three hungry Winchesters- or rather two and one quarter Winchesters, considering Jack’s current size- when Cas emerges from his shower. One look at him is all it takes to make it instantly clear exactly what offer he was talking about, because instead of his slacks and Sam’s hideously plain shirt, he’s now wearing a pair of Dean’s jeans and one of his red and black flannels. A persistent voice in his head tells Dean that the whole get up should look ridiculous, like a Party City style Winchester costume, but the thing is-- _it doesn’t_. Sure the denim stretches a bit too tight over Cas’s thighs and who besides _Sam_ buttons a flannel all the way up, but apart from that it’s a good look on the angel. Domestic. Dean likes it so much he forces himself to look away and instead focuses on the dishes he’s scrubbing so he won’t keep staring.

Despite his efforts, the universe proves itself devoid of mercy as Cas steps up right beside him anyway, wielding a dish towel. He wordlessly starts toweling off the pan and plates already on the drying rack, moving in perfect tandem with Dean. It’s a pleasant experience, working this mundane task in companionable silence with their shoulders brushing casually every once in a while. Cas’s hair is still damp from his shower, sticking out in all directions carelessly like it hasn’t done in years and Dean finds that he’s _missed_ that. Nowadays the angel always looks so put together. Tired, sure, but also much less of a chaotic force of nature than he used to when he was at full power. It just goes to show how much his friend has changed over the years, how much more reserved and human he has become, despite the grace that’s still left in him. He realizes too late that he stopped rinsing the fork he’s holding in favor of openly staring at Cas’s profile. The action doesn’t go unnoticed when he’s too slow to look away.

“What?” Cas asks with just a tinge of amusement in his voice. “Do I still look dumb? I thought this was quite the upgrade.” He vaguely gestures down at his new outfit, the glint in his eyes betraying that he knows exactly what he’s doing with this whole performance.

Dean clears his throat, suddenly feeling like they’re standing too close. “It’s the hair.”

“Oh?” Something he doesn’t dare to name twists his insides into a knot at the way Cas’s eyebrow quirks up. He runs a hand through his hair in an attempt to smooth it back in place but really all the action does is make more of a mess of the whole situation. Without thinking Dean reaches out and tugs the worst patches of unruly strands into semi-acceptable order, inadvertently ending up even further in Cas’s personal space. Rookie mistake. He’s usually much better at keeping a healthy distance between them so that moments like this don’t happen. Where the air grows thick with tension he will fight tooth and nail not to label as anything other than _uncomfortable_ and _weird_ and that he definitely doesn’t fucking crave the moment it dissolves.

 _But_ – he wouldn’t be the professional he is without a smooth way out of this mess, so he flashes a smile and pats Cas’s cheek maybe a bit too condescendingly before taking a step- or _three_ \- back. “There you go, buddy.”

If he didn’t know better Cas almost looks disappointed for a moment before a perfectly neutral expression settles in his features. “Thank you.”

They finish washing and drying the dishes in a silence that’s very much not companionable any more and Dean can’t quite decide what’s worse, the feeling of being overwhelmingly close to Cas without a clue what to do next or this unpleasant distance that’s almost comical in how forced it is. They basically shared a bed last night, for Christ’s sake, and that’s really not something they _do_. There’s no reason why that was somehow less awkward than it feels now standing a couple of feet apart in the kitchen like almost every damn day before.

“You should shower as well,” Cas suddenly says apropos of nothing as he hangs the dish towel up to dry.

“You saying I stink?” He quips back, gladly falling into a more familiar pattern of mutual teasing. A quick look at himself reveals that he is in fact still wearing his clothes from the previous night at the bar. “Actually, don’t answer that.” A shower is probably a good idea. Not lastly because it could also help him get rid of some other _frustrations_ that are steadily building up the longer Cas is around, though _correlation is not causation_ as Sam likes to say. Dean is pretty sure he knows what that means and that it applies to his current situation.

He leaves the room before Cas gets a chance to further add to this dilemma.

**~ * * * ~**

He manages to avoid being alone with Cas for almost an entire week. With Jack off at _Little Angels_ daycare it’s a lot easier than he thought it would be to schedule out his days in a way that actively avoids Cas’s routine and outside of interactions with or about Jack they don’t seem to have a lot to say to each other anyway. It’s not tense, exactly, just cautious. Sam picks up on it almost immediately, of course, which means Dean has to avoid him too or he’ll be in for a round of judgmental sighs that he really doesn’t have the nerve for right now.

Naturally it’s not a sustainable way to handle this little hiccup in their routine that has previously been working just fine and when Cas disappears for two nights to follow up on some Heaven business with Gabriel Dean finds himself irrationally afraid that he won’t come back, proving that all he’s doing is sabotaging a good thing. He actually _likes_ having Cas close, just a couple of rooms away at any given time, or guaranteed to come back- to come _home_ \- when he does go out for a while. It’s ridiculous that he actively avoids the guy when he wants the opposite but admitting that would come with consequences he doesn’t think he’s equipped to handle.

Still, all reservations go out the window when Cas comes strolling down the bunker’s metal staircase just like he promised he would in response to Dean’s typo ridden text message the night before in which he had practically made him promise to come home soon. After he maybe had a bit too much to drink and it had been a little too three a.m. to make good decisions. Swallowing down his embarrassment he greets the angel with a sheepish smile, closing the laptop on the map table in front of him. There’s been some disappearances around Lake Michigan that could be their cup of tea but he’s not entirely convinced yet.

“How’s Gabe?” he asks when Cas automatically straightens his trench coat as he settles in a chair across from him. It makes Dean feel lighter to have him back even though he wasn’t gone for long.

“Frustratingly well-adjusted,” Cas replies with a frown. “It’s like he’s mocking me.”

Dean laughs, empathizing with the frustration on the angel’s face. “Probably is. You sure there’s no secret Heavenly house parties going on?”

“Oh, I have no doubt about that. It just irks me that he manages everything in spite of them.”

“Shouldn’t you be happy that the Big Upstairs isn’t in shambles for once?”

“I suppose you’re right,” Cas allows but he still looks like he’s far away in his thoughts. “I guess it just makes me feel useless, in a way. For so long I was convinced it was my purpose to bring peace to the angels and do right by them after I – You know.” He laughs but it’s far from a happy sound. “It turns out they don’t need me.”

“Like hell they don’t,” Dean snaps, suddenly offended on Cas’s behalf. “If it weren’t for you, Gabriel wouldn’t have had the balls to take on this responsibility. That was all you. You did what _you_ could to get things back on track and now they are. Be proud of that.”

Cas looks genuinely surprised at those words. “You really think that?”

“You bet your feathery ass I do.”

“Thank you, Dean. That… means a lot to me.” They share a lingering look before a hint of mischief creeps into Cas’s eyes. “Though I feel compelled to clarify that my ass is not, in fact, feathery.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it.” And yeah that was supposed to be a _joke_ , just as dumb as Cas’s had been but now he’s thinking of the guy’s ass and it’s really not – this isn’t how he imagined it would be, having Cas back. Or maybe it’s exactly how he’s imagined it and now it’s overwhelming. Either way, Dean has to look away from the sudden fire in those too-blue eyes he apparently can’t even go two days without any more.

Luckily he’s saved from any further awkwardness as a familiar rumble can be heard from the garage, announcing Jack’s return from daycare. Cas takes a deep breath and gets up to meet the boy when he comes running in through the door a minute later, launching himself into the angel’s arms. Seems like Dean isn’t the only one who’s been missing Cas.

“You were gone,” Jack says, his tone accusatory even with his voice muffled by Cas’s coat.

“And now I’m back,” Cas reassures soothingly. His eyes catch Dean’s gaze for the briefest moment, aiming the words just as much at him.

Sam comes strolling in with Jack’s little dinosaur backpack slung over his ginormous shoulders, hilariously dwarfing it further. His eyes fall on Cas and he smiles. “Oh, you’re back already. That’s good.”

Turns out Jack got invited to his first sleepover and by the look on his brother’s face as he announces it, Dean can’t quite tell who’s more excited, Jack or Sam. If he’s completely honest, he gets where Sam is coming from. A sleepover is something so _normal_ that neither of them ever got to experience in their childhood and now Jack gets to have it. Dean is almost surprised when he doesn’t feel even the faintest hint of bitterness at the realization. Instead he’s fully preparing himself for the ten p.m. call that Jack wants home and he’ll be right there to either talk him down or pick him up, even though the event isn’t scheduled until next weekend.

He’s never felt more like a dad than he does at this moment.

Predictably, getting Jack to let go of Cas is nothing short of impossible, and Cas being the Grade A pushover that he is of course indulges the kid with all his might. He’s carrying Jack around the bunker all afternoon, or has him comfortably seated in his lap for his dinner and while flipping through a picture book. Dean follows them around, finding excuse after excuse to be in the same room just to watch Cas. He’s gotten so much more comfortable with Jack since that first day where he was gentle but unsure. The sight of them now with Cas making funny faces while he lets Jack wrap his tie around his forehead like a bandana makes Dean’s chest full with _something_.

The shenanigans are clearly meant to tire Jack out, but sleep is still not something that’s easily achieved, especially when it means he’ll have to loosen the vice grip he has on Cas. As it gets later, Jack starts to get grumpy with increasing exhaustion and soon he’s wailing his protests. While his tantrum isn’t accompanied by grace-related property damage this time around, the emotional manipulation angle still works just fine, meaning Cas walks circles in the library trying to either calm the boy down or have him fall asleep.

Big fat crocodile tears are rolling down Jack’s rosy cheeks, which isn’t tugging at Dean’s heartstrings at all, no sir. Neither is Cas cradling the boy to his chest, rocking him gently, like he’s done countless times before. However, Jack seems unimpressed with the angel’s efforts and the wailing continues.

“Can’t you mojo him to sleep or something?”

The suggestion earns him an icy glare. “He is warded, Dean. The magic that is keeping his own power contained also protects him from any angelic grace. Did you not listen to _anything_ I said while we discussed the spell?”

Dean rolls his eyes, ignoring the way his ears heat up at the reprimanding tone in Cas’s voice. “Fine. Try singing to him, then.”

He’s just about to explain that it was a joke when Cas actually breaks into song. It’s barely a melody, especially since Cas, endlessly skilled, gravel-voiced Cas, doesn’t have a single musical bone in his body, and it takes Dean way too long before he even recognizes the song at all. When he does he can’t stop the laugh that breaks free.

“Really, Cas?” He’s toeing the line somewhere between ridicule and awe. “Didn’t peg you as the type.”

Cas stops the gentle rocking motion long enough to shoot another glare over Jack’s shoulder. “I panicked,” he explains sourly before powering through another chorus line of _Nothing Else Matters_ _._

It’s so fucking ridiculous, seeing Cas as he cradles a child, _his_ child, to his chest in the middle of the bunker library. Singing _Metallica_ , of all things. And yeah, while Dean didn’t know earlier what exactly that _something_ in his chest had been, this is the fucking moment to realize he is one hundred and ten percent helplessly, idiotically, _entirely_ gone for this guy.

He's kind of shocked when the realization doesn't feel all that surprising.

**~ * * * ~**

Dean doesn’t know why he’s following the pair to Jack’s room exactly, it’s not like he’s been any help at all in the effort of getting Jack to sleep. He just feels the innate desire to watch Cas in his parental role for a little while longer, like a craving. Despite his monumental realization regarding his feelings for Cas, he’s mindful to keep a bit of distance between them, settling an elbow on Jack’s dresser to watch the scene unfold. His presence isn’t commented on even as Cas places the blissfully sleeping child in the nest of pillows and fleece blankets on the bed, carefully arranged to keep his little body from rolling off the mattress should he have a fitful sleep. Instinctively, Jack reaches for his _Marvelous Marvin_. Dean feels like someone physically squeezes his heart in their fist when Cas leans down and smooths over an errand lock of blond hair before placing a feather-light kiss on Jack’s forehead. Even in his unconscious state the boy smiles as he hugs the teddy closer to his chest.

Somehow Dean has to remind himself how to breathe when Cas finally straightens up to meet his eyes. “Look at you being all soft,” he murmurs teasingly. It’s the only way he knows how to fight the feeling in his chest.

“It’s not like there has ever been space for a lot of affection in our lives, Dean. While it may be too late for us, I don’t wish for Jack to experience a lack of it. Especially in this innocent state.”

For some reason the defeated tone of Cas’s voice makes Dean’s next words come out more defensive than joking. “Hey, we hug!”

Cas regards him with a tired smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Occasionally,” he allows. “At the prospect of losing one another.”

“Ain’t that when it matters the most?”

“If that’s what you need to tell yourself.”

With that Cas starts to move toward the door, though it feels like something inside Dean’s chest will implode if he actually let’s him walk away. He clears his throat, combating the awkwardness of what he’s about to say next:

“You’re saying you wanna be hugged... more?”

Effectively stopped in his tracks, there’s something in Cas’s eyes when he looks at him again that Dean doesn’t think he recognizes. Almost like a dare. “Don’t you?”

“No,” he lies automatically before his brain catches up to correct him. “Maybe.”

It feels like time stretches on endlessly for a moment while he can see Cas’s internal struggle reflected on his features. Normally they don’t talk about things like this outside of poorly delivered innuendo. _Normally_ Cas allows himself to be teased and moves on.

Today Cas doesn’t seem to have the nerve for this game any more.

He takes a deliberate step toward Dean. Then one more. A third step brings the angel close enough that Dean finds himself trapped against the dresser he’s been very casually leaning against until now with his arms hanging uselessly at his sides. The proximity paired with the sudden determination he sees in Cas’s eyes causes Dean’s breath to catch in his throat.

“Touch is an integral part of human interaction,” Cas says, keeping his voice hardly above a whisper. His fingers ghost over the back of Dean’s left hand and up his arm. It’s barely a touch at all, just enough to leave his skin tingling as it activates the hairs on his exposed forearm. Cas continues the journey up, never taking his eyes off Dean as he grasps his shoulder in the spot where he once left a hand print. “There is nothing wrong with finding comfort in something as simple as this.” He emphasizes his words with a gentle squeeze. Meanwhile his other hand settles on Dean’s hip, securing him in place while his thumb traces idly along the seam below his belt. “Remember, Dean, I’ve witnessed you at your darkest, rawest moments. I’m sure you believe your soul was broken when I found you in Hell after all those years of torture but it wasn’t.” Both Cas’s hands wander from their respective places, dragging over the fabric of Dean’s clothes as they go until they come to rest on either side of his face. “It was pure and bright and screaming to be to be saved. I expected it to recoil from any touch after knowing only pain for so long but when I held you… your soul, it _melted_ at first contact with my grace. Starved for any kind of care. Begging to be loved.” A hint of amusement sparks in Cas’s eyes. “Imagine my surprise when the man this soul belonged to stabbed me upon our very next meeting once I came too close.”

Dean barely manages an apologetic shrug.

It draws a soft chuckle from Cas. “I learned my first lesson that day, followed by many more about ‘personal space’.”

“Speaking of,” Dean rasps, eyes casting a fleeting glance down at the mere inch or two between their bodies. Cas doesn’t move away. If anything he leans in closer. Enough so that Dean can smell their communal laundry detergent on his shirt, freshly washed after the recent Lunch Wars. It’s impossible to decide whether Dean wants to push him away or drag him in to close the gap. Cas seems to easily recognize the inner struggle.

“I have long given up on trying to decipher what you really want, Dean. But _sometimes_.” The sentence hangs unfinished in the air as Cas’s fingers come to life again. One hand moves from his cheek to card through Dean’s hair, short nails dragging over his scalp with torturous slowness like he did that night they never talk about. The other moves lower until Cas gently holds his chin in place with just his index finger, effectively trapping Dean’s gaze before he continues. “Sometimes you look at me, and I feel the same pull as I did from your soul all those years ago. That _craving_ _to be touched_ _.”_ He boldly emphasizes the last word by dragging his thumb across Dean’s bottom lip. In response Dean can barely hold back a whimper as his mouth chases after the touch while his eyes fall shut.

The next instant all contact leaves him.

He can hear Cas’s footsteps as he walks away, first out of the room then down the hall. Dean is stuck in place. His bottom lip still feels burning hot where Cas touched it. It takes a disproportionately long moment before Dean can make up his mind but when he does he’s after Cas so fast, he only peripherally remembers to pull Jack’s door shut behind himself.

Quickly catching up somewhere around the halfway point to the angel’s room, Dean still acts on auto pilot. He reaches out a hand, catches Cas’s shoulder in an iron grip and spins him around in a whirlwind action that probably catches them both off-guard. Cas squares his shoulders as he faces Dean, making him realize too late that he is powerless against the full force of those blue eyes. They compel him to drop his guard completely and surrender himself, not a hint of mercy in them. It’s not entirely clear who moves first, if it’s Cas drawing him in or Dean making a move but ultimately he finds himself crowding Cas against the bunker wall step by agonizing step. His hands come to rest just above Cas’s shoulders but it serves more to support himself than anything else now that his knees feel embarrassingly weak. Cas leans back against the wall, much more casual than he has has any goddamn right to, and licks his lips. The nerve. The _audacity_.

Dean suppresses another whimper as he greedily follows the action, reduced to the bare minimum of his brain function with just this faintest tease. The air between them has grown so thick it’s become suffocating, filling his lungs without allowing them the luxury of oxygen. He tries to find his way out of the haze in his mind, break free from the desperate pull of having Cas this close, pinning him to the spot with nothing more than a look even while it’s Dean that actually has him physically backed up against the fucking wall. Dean needs to close his eyes or he might never regain the ability to breathe. He doesn’t know what it is he needs, he just knows he wants _something_ , wants...

Fuck, he _wants._

“ _Cas_.”

It comes out as a plea. Like a prayer falling from his lips into the space between them.

Cas sounds way too calm and twice as smug as he responds. “Use your words.”

Against his better judgment he opens his eyes again to glare at the angel. On the surface he finds his expression to be perfectly serene but there’s something simmering just below. Cas is testing him, pushing him toward something that they’ve never dared to approach, or a least never as overtly as this. He can feel his jaw lock almost painfully with his own restraint. Cas just waits, hands nonchalantly in the pockets of his damn coat. Dean knows the proverbial ball is in his court right now, all he has to do is ask and --

– _Of course_ Sam chooses this exact fucking moment to come strolling around the corner.

“Uh,” his brother says, ever eloquent, eyes darting back and forth between him and Cas. “Am I interrupting something?”

Dean realizes he’s still got the angel trapped against the wall. “Nope,” he insists, pushing off the tile and taking a few liberating steps backwards. “Cas was just going to his room”

“Yes. I’m tired.” The dry look Cas sends his way conveys the true meaning easily. ‘ _Tired of your shit,_ _Dean_ _’_.

Sam seems to miss the look altogether as his expression softens from confusion to sympathy. “Did Jack make a fuss about sleeping again?”

Cas heaves a sigh in confirmation. “It’s getting easier but he is still half angel. Convincing him to rest is quite the challenge.” He rubs at the back of his neck in one of those inane human gestures he’s picked up over the years. It makes Dean want to reach out and squeeze down on some pressure points he knows would feel awesome. Which just tells him he’s in way over his head with the whole situation already. _Great_.

To add insult to injury Cas doesn’t even grace him with a sideways glance when he finally does retreat to his room, making it even more clear that he’s put himself out there and Dean is just too chickenshit to do the same.

An hour or so later he goes to grab a beer from the fridge and as luck will have it Sam has set up his research station at the kitchen table. His brother doesn’t look up while Dean twists the cap off his bottle and takes the first gulp but he knows better than to believe he’ll leave this room without one of the infamous sibling interrogations.

“So, do I need to loudly announce myself from now so you and Cas have time to jump five feet apart?”

“Shut up,” Dean groans. “Don’t make it weirder than it fucking is already.”

Sam snorts. “Honestly, I was making a joke but is there something you wanna talk about maybe?”

No, no he really _doesn’t_ want to talk about it but his brain hasn’t gotten the memo because before he can snark at his brother he finds himself saying, “Cas thinks we don’t hug enough.”

He expects an eye-roll, or maybe exasperation. Instead Sam looks up from his screen with his _No Shit, Sherlock_ look. Dean huffs, lamely repeating himself. “Dude! We hug!”

“Dean, we’ve known Cas for more than twelve years and I’ve seen you two hug maybe three times. I’m pretty sure you’ve been more touchy-feely with any given bartender at last call.”

He doesn’t know why but hearing that kind of stings. “So you think he’s got a point?”

Sam’s eyes roll toward the ceiling, like he’s calling on Gabriel for strength. When he looks back at Dean it’s almost with pity. “For the record, I think your issues run way deeper than that. But maybe it’s a start.”

“Yeah,” Dean gives in after a few strengthening sips from his beer. “Yeah, okay.”

Before the conversation can grow even more uncomfortable he quickly strolls out the door leading toward the bedrooms. He almost makes it far enough to be out of earshot when Sam calls after him: “Use protection.”

There’s only one appropriate response.

“Fuck you, Samuel!”

**~ * * * ~**

It’s pretty early in the morning the next day but Dean can already hear the blissful sound of the coffee machine long before he strolls into the kitchen, expecting to mock Sam for his workout routine. Instead he finds Cas’s back turned to him as he cuts the crust off the PB&J sandwiches he’s preparing. Jack must be up too, then. For a moment Dean takes the time to just watch, captivated by the domesticity of an angel making breakfast. He’s wearing the jeans and plaid flannel combination from before he left the bunker and Dean now finds himself oddly appreciative of the way the denim hugs Cas’s thighs and, well, other assets.

And yeah, that’s really not an innocent thought to have so who is he even kidding any more at this point. A laugh escapes him because it’s ridiculous that he’s holding back on so much physical contact to not push any boundaries while openly ogling the angel’s backside. Cas must have noticed him by now, yet he hasn’t acknowledged him, maybe still sulking about the day before. Without wasting another thought on worrying, Dean takes the few strides into the kitchen until he’s right the hell up in Cas’s space with his chest a mere inch from the angel’s back. Cas barely has time to react, clearly surprised that Dean willingly loses at their cuddly game of chicken, when Dean brings up his arms to securely wrap around Cas’s waist. His chin hooks over the angel’s shoulder. “Mornin’.”

He can feel the way every muscle tenses under the touch before Cas’s body absolutely fucking collapses into Dean’s chest, the butter knife clattering onto the plate as it falls from Cas’s hand. “What are you doing?”

“It’s called a hug, Cas.”

“Hm, interesting.” The angel plays along as one hand tentatively comes up to thread into Dean’s hair because _of course_ the bastard already knows that touch turns him into putty.

“Figured we could make some time for, uh. Affection. If that’s okay.” He buries his nose in the crook of Cas’s neck to hide his embarrassment, feeling Cas’s breath hitch as he does.

“More than okay.” Cas’s other hand comes to rest across Dean’s, fingers teasing over his knuckles in the ghost of a touch that makes Dean’s stomach explode with something he’s still kind of reluctant to call butterflies. “Though unless you want to explain this development to your brother I suggest you step away.”

Dean heaves a sigh at Sam’s ever frustrating timing and pulls Cas close for one brief moment before releasing him but not without teasing his lips over the shell of Cas’s ear. He grins at the way it makes Cas’s cheeks turn the faintest shade of red. At least that’s somewhat of a payback for yesterday’s stunt.

A moment later Jack comes racing into the kitchen, closely followed by Sam who ridiculously pretends not to be able to catch up with the kid. “Oh no! Guys Jack is _so_ fast!” he exclaims theatrically.

They run a couple of laps around the counter, Jack squealing in delight while Sam continues to take half his normal strides to stay just behind. After the fourth round or so Dean steps in and sweeps Jack off his little feet, using the momentum to spin him around in a circle. The high-pitched _weee_ draws a laugh from all adults in the room.

Soon they’re all gathered around the kitchen table, enjoying their respective PB&J’s – even Sam, though naturally his has to be wholegrain bread – and Dean finds himself unable to keep from smiling. It’s a damn good morning with his little family. Jack is grinning and babbling on and on about volcanoes, which are all the hype at daycare these days, while Sam listens expressively and Cas nods along with every tidbit of information, eyes intensely focused on the boy. Secretly he’s resting a hand on Dean’s thigh under the table. It’s a new kind of touch, a promise of closeness and intimacy that Dean is all too eager to explore now that he’s decided to let himself do so. Frankly, he can’t remember the last time he was this excited for something. Cas isn’t faring any better if the looks he all-too obviously sneaks at him are anything to go by and suddenly this pleasant little family moment morphs into the world’s longest breakfast as Dean grows impatient. Jack takes _forever_ to eat his crust-less toast triangles, too lost in his narrative and Sam keeps on _chewing_ for _ages_ like he’s aiming to go Olympic.

Meanwhile Cas seems to have remembered that he’s actually a mischievous little shit when he wants to be and starts moving his hand up and down his thigh at a torturously slow pace, creeping more and more towards the inseam of his jeans, further up toward – _Okay_ , that’s. No. Dean has to nip this in the bud right the fuck now or he’ll end up doing something very regrettable in the presence of _his brother and their son,_ thank you. He slaps his hand over Cas’s, pulling the emergency break on whatever he thinks he’s doing. The noise of the sudden contact is loud enough to catch Sam’s attention who gives them a confused but already cautiously displeased look.

“Fly,” Dean blurts out. “There – there was a _fly_.”

His brother doesn’t belief him for even a second. “Sure.”

“Miss Kingston says it’s bad to hit flies,” Jack says through the last mouthful of his sandwich.

Dean rolls his eyes. “I didn’t hit it, don’t worry.”

“You definitely hit something,” Cas grouses, entirely unhelpful.

“Okay, you know what, that’s it,” Sam gets up with an exasperated sigh. “I’ll go get Jack ready for his daycare and you two – I don’t even want to know. Just, get it over with, _please_.”

Jack looks alarmed as he’s being lifted into Sam’s arms. “Are Dean and Cas fighting?”

“No, buddy, but we’re gonna give them some space anyway.”

“Be nice!” The boy says it so sternly, Dean can almost see a hint of gold in his eyes.

“I’ll be extra nice,” he says softly, feigning innocence as he looks at Cas. “I promise.”

That seems to adequately satisfy Jack while also hilariously disturbing Sam, so it’s a win-win in his book. He watches his brother stalk out of the kitchen with a chuckle. That kid always _was_ too easy to rile up.

For a moment there’s an air of uncertainty between them as he finds himself once more alone with Cas but it dissipates soon enough when Dean loosens his grip on the angel’s wrist.

“May I ask what being ‘extra nice’ entails?” Cas muses from next to him as he takes up his gentle caress once more.

“Well, for one I ain’t stopping you if you wanna continue with _that_.” He sends a pointed look downwards where Cas’s hand is once more dangerously close to a very enticing area.

“Good to know.” In a direct contradiction to his words, Cas pulls his hand away. “Though I think there’s something we should talk about first”

“Um, I mean – sure.”

“About _Jack_ ,” Cas clarifies, though his expression becomes impossibly soft. “I know better than to ask for a conversation about _us_ at this point in time, but I appreciate that you’re open to it.”

“Sure thing, Cas.” Dean finds himself genuinely smiling, in spite of the anxiety still tensing his muscles. Christ, Sam wasn’t lying when he said their issues ran deeper than just hugging it out. He clears his throat. “So what about Jack?”

“Did you notice how the sleeves on his pajama shirt have become quite short on him?”

Dean actually _has_ noticed that, though he chalked it up to kids just freaking growing like weeds. It certainly was that way with Sam. “Yeah, why?”

“He’s also talking in much more complex sentences.”

Dean shrugs, not quite seeing what Cas is getting at with all this. “Isn’t that what the lady at the daycare said would happen?”

“Not within a _week_ , Dean.”

“Do we need to be worried?”

To his surprise, Cas smiles warmly. “I don’t think so. I have talked to Gabriel about this theory I had and… Dean, I believe Jack develops faster when he’s thriving. I think he’s _happy_ , so his body is growing healthier as his grace and soul work on mending his trauma.”

That’s a surprise, considering they went through all this work to find a spell that can contain freaking nephilim grace. “I thought his mojo is offline for now.”

“It’s dormant, not gone. My grace may be rendered useless by the spell but I’m no archangel. It’s entirely plausible that some part of Jack’s grace is still working in the background, so to speak.”

Dean tries to process all of this information. If this theory is correct, it means that Jack is doing well, that he’s happy and healthy. But it also means he’ll grow up too fast again, which doesn’t seem fair at all. “How long until he’s grown up again?”

“At his current pace? Five years, maybe a bit more. It won’t be linear, Dean, and he’ll still go through all the important stages of development. He’s just… not human.”

“Right.” Sometimes it’s too easy to forget that part.

“Why do you seem upset?” There’s worry lines forming on Cas’s face as he asks and Dean finds the urge to smooth them out overwhelming. For a moment he even wonders if he could kiss them away but it’s not the time to test that out. Not with things still needing some clarification.

“I dunno. I just – I guess I was looking forward to doing this the right way.”

Cas smiles at him again, a truly carefree smile that he doesn’t show often. Just like that the lines are gone from his face. “You _are_. This doesn’t change anything about what we’re supposed to be doing, if anything it shows that we are on the right track. You, me and Sam, we are doing right by him.”

“Okay.” Cas has a valid point, it’s just going to take some getting used to. And really, five years instead of fifteen just means there’s less time to screw up, which is great. It _also_ means there’s less time for the fun parts. This has the potential to become a long-term challenge Dean is all too eager to rise to. “If we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna fucking do this all the way. I’m talking PTA meetings, bake sales, overzealous junior soccer league, the whole nine yards.”

Cas must find his passionate outburst incredibly endearing or something because he huffs out a breathy laugh that almost sounds like he’s in awe. “If that’s what you want, Dean.”

Dean slaps the table top with his open palm, suddenly elated by all the possibilities. “Damn right that’s what I want. And we’re gonna start with that sleepover.”

“That’s not until a week from now.,” Cas says as he slowly gets up from his seat, pulling Dean with him until they’re no longer awkwardly sitting side by side but standing all the way in each other’s personal space. The way Cas looks at him, so full of _emotion_ , makes his knees go weak. “How about we focus on something else until then?”

While the angel’s intentions are pretty clear, Cas isn’t the only one who can be a brat. Dean raises a challenging eyebrow. “Like what?”

Cas never let go of his hand and now uses the connection to tug him even closer until their eyes are locked and they’re sharing breaths that faintly taste of peanut butter.“Like being _extra nice,_ for example.”

And yeah well, that’s an invitation for a kiss if Dean’s heard it, so he doesn’t leave Cas hanging and instead charges forward until there’s finally no space between them at all. It’s not desperate or dirty, there’s plenty of time for both of that later. It’s a saccharine promise of commitment that they’ve both needed from each other but so stubbornly withheld for way too long and it’s _fantastic_.

Dean knows what lies ahead of them won’t be a cakewalk. There’s going to be issues and fights, and probably a whole lot of broken light bulbs if Jack’s grace becomes too strong for the spell one day. But they’ll keep on learning and being patient with themselves and each other and cross each bridge as they get to it.

They’ve come a long way in just a few short weeks, further than in years and years before that and when Dean looks into Cas’s stupid blue eyes as they pull apart he really can’t wait for what’s to come.

**FIN**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand it's a wrap. As per usual much later than planned but that's just my brand. 
> 
> I hope you had some fun with this, and if you did why not let me know on the way out!  
> Until next time!
> 
> x


End file.
